


Stockholm Syndrome

by BlueMonkey, ThornyHedge



Category: The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hackers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crime, Dubious Consent, Interrogation, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 74,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMonkey/pseuds/BlueMonkey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/pseuds/ThornyHedge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard Armitage is the driving force behind Armitage International, a thriving software company.  He's also an elite hacker, famous for holding giant corporations for cyber-ransom.  What happens when one of his own employees, an up-and-coming ballsy hacker fueled by a dare, decides to try to out-hack his own boss? </p><p>Richard doesn't like to look bad.  And Aidan has just cost him 2 million pounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exit Interview

**Author's Note:**

> Richard Armitage written by BlueMonkey
> 
> Aidan Turner written by ThornyHedge

It was a bit of a cliché. Above the table hung a single light bulb, no shades or a sense of safety precautions apparent; two exposed wires disappeared into a connector overhead. For the ways in which the rest of the factory hall was spacious, this particular blinded room—which must have served as a canteen for staff once—was small and claustrophobic. Two men guarded the door. One opened momentarily to let in a tall man after a knock. The blindfolded man in the chair straightened.

Dressed crisply to the chin, the tall man stood in stark contrast with his surroundings. He looked over at the two men, then nodded. They left at once.

A long silence ruled between the man and the focus of his attention, seated on the wooden chair on the other side of the paint-stained table. Then he spoke.

"Well. No need for formalities. I believe you know who I am."

Aidan knew. Everyone knew Richard Armitage. Although not everyone knew that the millionaire software pioneer was also a crime boss. His tailor-made viruses and worms were responsible for bringing major corporations to their knees… unless, of course, money changed hands. His illegal hacking had made him infamous in Aidan’s world.

Unfortunately, Aidan was in the same business, but on a much smaller, more humble scale. Until recently, that is, when he’d made the ambitious mistake of trying to hack the master hacker himself. It had been a joke between him and his partners in crime. _What if we got one over on Armitage himself?_ Adam had speculated one night as he, Aidan and James passed around a joint. Aidan took on the challenge, and implanted a caustic worm in the mainframe server at Armitage International. It wasn’t hard. He worked there, after all.

Well, he used to. Of course, most exit interviews didn’t entail being tied up and blindfolded, waiting for your ex-employer to possibly kill you.

Richard did not expect an answer. He sat down on the only empty chair left, opposite him, and placed his hands on the table, fingertips touching. Normally, this wasn't his business. Whenever interrogation was necessary, he had the people to fix a confession or valuable information for him. He didn't usually step into one of his many dens across the city; he had messengers for that. Very capable messengers, too. They came either from the Army, or they had loved ones, and thus, leverage.

But the man in front of him had cost him too much for that. A Trojan; child's play for any seasoned hacker, and a whim for someone the likes of him. Richard was the best. He knew which security breaches gave which advantages, he had all access looped through seven different exchange points, and the algorithms he used were unbreakable.

But young Mr. Turner, a rookie in his eyes, had done the unthinkable. It was a blow to his pride.

Richard removed the blindfold and stared at him long and hard. Then he sat back, leaned an arm over the back of the chair, and wondered, "Whatever will I do with you?"

Aidan cleared his throat and blinked against the sudden brightness. “M-Mr. Armitage, I-I don’t quite know what to say,” he began, trying to hide the quiver in his voice. He dared look up and into Richard’s eyes. 

God, but Armitage was handsome. Wearing a suit and glasses, he looked like he should be teaching Chaucer at university, and not be about to beat Aidan… or worse.

The younger man had always counted on his good looks and charm to help him weasel out of trouble, but considering Armitage outweighed him in both departments, he felt like a rabbit in a trap. 

“I made a huge mistake, Mr. Armitage,” he said finally, looking down. “I was dared to try to make a worm that could bring down Armitage International. I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined it would work.”

"You cost me two million pounds," Richard stared hard at him.

It wasn't the money that bothered him. If this boy could hack his way into Armitage International, he could easily find methods to pay up the money. Part of him was impressed. The other part felt the sting of being bested. Aside from that, he now had a very, very angry client as a result. Richard pushed his glasses further up his nose, and let his head fall back with a sigh. "Do you have any idea what I do with people who cost me money? Now, you're going to tell me exactly what you did with the information you recovered from my drives. Do I make myself clear?"

“I-information?” Aidan was genuinely confused. “Mr. Armitage, I promise you that I didn’t steal any information, at all.” He took deep breaths to try to calm his thudding heart. “I was just trying to see if I could get into the system. I would never do anything to harm our clients, or their data.”

Aidan wriggled his wrists experimentally, but the knots were solid. “I realize my word means nothing to you. But if you were to search my computers, my belongings, my home, or me… you’d find nothing.”

Richard's head snapped back. He stared at him sharply. "Don't you think I've already done that? Don't play games with me, if you plan to make it out alive. Though I might just have your fingers for this yet."

He couldn't stand the look of feigned innocence. It was an insult to his intelligence.

It was perhaps more than that. Richard found he liked how scared he was. He drank it in and still craved more, the sight of this man in distress doing marvels for his wounded pride.

“If you’ve already done that, then you know all there is to know about me,” Aidan huffed in annoyance. “I’m not rich like you. Not lucky enough to afford to sweep my indiscretions under the rug. So, I have no indiscretions,” he said ruefully. 

Aidan raised his eyes to Richard’s again, trying valiantly to appeal to the magnate. “I have always held you in the highest regard…and been a loyal, hardworking employee. M-maybe I was trying to get your attention. Did you ever think of that?” He instantly regretted his words.

And oh, he got Richard's attention. The man stood up and leaned over the table. When Aidan couldn't lean back and his face was only inches from his former employee, he was close enough to intimidate for his taste. "You misunderstand me, _Turner_. When I'm through with you, you'll have indiscretions. You'll not be able to walk a step without pain. You'll never be behind a computer again. I will make sure of it personally. And until you leave this room, you have my utmost attention. So I suggest you stop with the act. It's not fooling anyone, least of all me. Now, approximately three terabytes of data were copied this afternoon. Valuable data. What I want to know is who you routed it to."

Aidan swallowed audibly. “Sir,” he began, “I honestly have no knowledge of the data you speak of. I swear this to you. I’d be willing to take any form of lie detector test you wanted me to. I did _not_ tamper with any data.” He felt suddenly very afraid for his life.

Richard snarled. He shoved his chair out of reach. His hands hit the table. Aidan could be telling the truth. How stupid someone so virtuous had to be, to think of crossing him and get away with it. He quite liked the scent of his fear. "Polygraphs can be cheated." 

He reached inside his jacket and drew a gun from it. The Glock hit the table with a thud—just out of reach for Aidan. "Two million pounds is a lot of money, Mr. Turner. And that piece of information. You're taking too long, and I've other things to attend to. Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you in the kneecaps and force the information out of you."

Aidan took a giant leap of faith and said the first thing that came to his mind. “I’ll give you two reasons, Sir. Number one, I am, hands down, the most talented programmer in your company, and I admire you very much. Number two,” he locked in on Richard’s blue eyes and licked his lips nervously, “I have other talents that have yet to be… discovered.”

He took in a long, slow deep breath and awaited the fatal punch or gunshot Armitage was sure to deliver.

"You're suggesting sex to get away with two million pounds?"

Richard got up and circled the man until he stood behind him, the gun safely back in his own hands. Nobody was here to see them, and the room was made sound-proof especially for its purpose. Blackened stains against the walls, once red, were proof enough of that. Richard could do anything, and the world outside would not bat an eye.

He rested the gun lightly on Aidan's shoulder and whispered into his ear, "Awfully expensive for a whore."

“ _I_ didn’t suggest anything,” Aidan found it easier to answer the man when he didn’t have to look at him. He knew he was well and truly fucked, so he said exactly what he wanted to say. “But the fact that _you_ went there is very telling, Mr. Armitage. Tell me, when is the last time someone properly sucked your cock?”

Richard suddenly backhanded him across the face.

"Left-handed, or right-handed?" he asked, as he flipped out a butterfly knife very visibly in front of his prisoner.

“Why don’t you choose?” Aidan tried to remain impassive, despite his terror. “You’ll think I’m lying no matter what I say.”

"This has nothing to do with your lies, and everything with respect. Don't treat me like a man swayed by the offer of pleasure. Though we'll get to that later." Richard took hold of his left hand, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Aidan and not on his hand. "I'm going to assume you're right-handed. So just to give you a taste of how your good hand is going to end up if you don't work with me." 

He jammed the metal hilt right in between the metacarpal bones of his index and middle finger, his jaw clenching.

Aidan managed not to scream, but it hurt like a mother-fucker, and he hissed through the pain. Turns out, he was left-handed. 

“Sir,” Aidan tried one more time. “All the scare tactics, bone breaking and shooting won’t make a difference. I don’t have your _fucking_ data! You are barking up the wrong tree here.”

"Then why are you offering to suck me off?" Richard hissed. He made his disdain for the other as clear as could be. Gorgeous he may be, and intelligent enough if he got past Richard's many state of the art firewalls, but any diplomacy was lost on him. He continued to say the wrong things. Richard realized that he was long past caring for the money. The data played on his mind, sure, though Aidan continued to aggravate him well past that point.

He turned the knife over in his hand, the blade down. "Do not try my patience."

Aidan couldn’t pull his eyes away from the way the single light bulb glinted off the cold metal. “M-maybe,” he finally dragged his eyes to Richard’s face, “ Maybe I just want to suck you off. Had you thought of that?”

There was no denying that Richard was surprised at his continued resistance. Despite better judgment, he pulled the knife away and drew steps away from him. "Stop lying to me. Why break my security? Why assault me, when that's what you want? Your story’s full of discrepancies. I should have you dealt with, rather than dirty my hands myself.”

“Why _are_ you here?” Aidan suddenly realized that, yes, any member of the Armitage Army could be in here right now ripping off his fingernails. Why had Richard chosen to come—and all alone? “Why not send one of your gorillas in here if it’s my blood you’re after?”

The knife scraped across the chipped wood of the table. "Because they would have gotten rid of you. You're smart. You have to be, if you breached my systems. I could have use for you yet. But I need that data. If not you, tell me of your dare. Who? When? Did they pay you?"

“You don’t trust anyone, do you?” Aidan wondered. “I feel sorry for you. Look at my employee record, Mr. Armitage. It speaks for itself. I’ve been working here since I graduated university. I’m an exemplary employee, with several commendations, signed, I might add, by _you,_ ” he stopped talking. “I know that my transgression two days ago makes me look like a very, very bad person. But I’m not. I didn’t steal your data. My program doesn’t even _do_ that, which you should know if you’ve looked at it.” Aidan looked him straight in the eye. “I think you have another rat on your ship.”

"Oh, one who knows the exact minute you ran your command? Three terabytes were sluiced out until they went missing. Eleven fifty-nine. Right before lunch. Your stamp on it. You had gall, Turner, running that program from your working station of all places."

That afternoon had been chaos. Nobody knew what exactly happened. Crisis meetings were suddenly had, and none of the employees had been allowed to leave the office until further notice. At the end, Aidan Turner’s name rolled out of extensive analysis.

Richard circled the table. "Very well, indulge me," he said. "Do you suspect anyone? Did anyone know of the moment you ran it?"

 _Dammit!_ Aidan thought, closing his eyes in resignation. Of course he hadn’t run the worm from his own work station. He wasn’t that careless. However, there was one other person he’d entrusted with his password, and that is because they occasionally needed to cover for one another. Adam Brown, his best friend at Armitage International. But Adam wouldn’t do this… would he?

“I can’t think of anyone,” he told Richard, quietly. “I guess it must have been me after all.”

Richard leaned closer. "Is that a confession?" he asked.

Aidan’s heart sank, coming to grips with the fact that Adam had thrown him under the bus. But, what if he was wrong? “I—” he started, then blinked and a betraying tear fell onto his lap. “I guess it’s me telling you that I have nothing more to say, Mr. Armitage.”

A fair share of tears had been shed in this room, many of them from men whose lives were forfeit. Richard cared little for traitors. They were usually disposed of, or otherwise made sure to never be a problem again. Somehow, he didn't want Aidan to fall into that category, not in the least, because he didn't believe his confession at all. "Then tell me who has the data," he said, as though challenging him to undermine his own story.

“I don’t know the answer to that question,” Aidan told him. “My hack was not sent from my work station. I sent it from one of the computers we use for guests, in the lobby.” _Not that it would have been logged,_ he reminded himself. Aidan was too smart for that. “Whomever used my computer obviously knew my password. Maybe someone from IT?” he suggested, trying to divert attention from his mild-mannered friend.

It was actually a valid point. Company policy dictated that IT could always reset passwords, even though people who forgot them clearly weren't fit to work at Armitage International. It was a matter of security. Richard thought long and hard about that. His eyes were drawn back to Aidan's eyes, full of tears and, somehow, genuine. He looked good that way, with stricken cheeks and desperation in his system.

"Be very careful with what you're going to do, the next few days," he said at last. "I will get to the bottom of this. Until that time, I will hold you in my custody. Should you cooperate, you might just get out of this with your fingers still with you."

“Y-you’re not killing me?” Aidan stammered, eyes alight with hope. “W-where are you going to keep me?”

"Is that your first concern?" Richard wondered. He'd expected gratitude, not pickiness. Then his lips pulled up, and he slipped the knife back into his inside pocket. "Do you prefer silence, or people around you?"

“As long as there’s a restroom, I honestly don’t care. I have to piss something fierce,” Aidan admitted. 

The taller man nodded. He made up his mind. Reaching out, he tugged the blindfold back up over his eyes. "Very well." Another knock on the door, and the two men entered. They frowned when they saw that Aidan still had his fingers on him, and wasn’t unconscious or bleeding profusely from one or multiple wounds.

"Did he tell?" one wanted to know.

Richard waved it away. "That's no concern of yours. Bathroom first. Nothing else when you're there, or you'll answer to me. And have him in the car in five minutes."

"The car, Sir?" the other goon wondered.

"Five minutes. Get a move on."

And, like that, Aidan was roughly pulled out of his seat and deposited into Richard's loft half an hour later, a far more intricate electronic lock around his neck and wrists this time.

Aidan was mortified being blindfolded and led to the toilet, and it tripled when his dick was manhandled out and aimed by a stranger’s hand. “Piss, now, and make it quick,” the voice had hissed in his ear. Holding it was not an option.

The driving and being shoved around while being unable to see was disorienting. In the car, a snug collar was placed around his neck and clasped with something cold and hard. His wrists were unbound for a few glorious seconds, then pulled in front of him and re-secured. Clearly Richard didn’t trust him _that_ much.

He was pulled from the vehicle, led up some stairs and shoved down onto what felt like a bed. Footsteps walked away from him and a door closed. He reached up to remove the blindfold.

Richard had been sitting on a seat in the corner of the room for awhile. Silent as he could be, he saw how the man was brought into his loft. It was late, and he'd chosen not to switch on the lights. When Connor, one of his most trusted men, entered, he shortly gestured to the bed and signaled for him to leave afterwards.

He still didn't fully trust this man seated on his bed. When his hand moved up, no doubt to remove the obstruction in front of his eyes, Richard reached for the remote and sent a shock through the device on his neck down his spine.

"I wouldn't do that."

Aidan cried out, more in surprise than pain, and lowered his hands to his lap. “I-I’m sorry,” he told his former employer.

"You're still awfully expensive," Richard spoke from the dark of the room. Part of him wanted to see more. The other quite liked this arrangement. A lot of money had been lost that day, and the only place he could keep him without running the risk at escape at night was the panic room. "Say we catch the man who has the data. What do you intend to do about the payback?"

He didn't really want an answer though. Richard leaned his cheek on his knuckles. "Get out of your jeans."

Aidan knew when he’d felt the soft bed under his ass that this night was not going to be a restful one for him. He hated not being able to see. What if the room were full of Armitage goons just watching… waiting? 

“Okay, Sir,” he finally agreed, not wanting another shock. He stood and reached down, bound hands fumbling as they clicked open his fly and ungracefully slid down his zipper. He started to push his jeans down his thighs, until gravity took over and they fell the rest of the way to the floor. He felt exposed in his boxers. He sat and toed off his sneakers, then lifted his feet out of his jeans. “Is that all right?”

As the younger man stood in front of the bed, his lower half practically naked except for one vital part, Richard couldn't help but smile. There could be more uses for someone like Aidan, while he was still in his possession. If the man spoke true, he wouldn't be for much longer. Richard meant to use that to his full extent. His thumb grazed his lip. "Now your underwear."

If he unintentionally humiliated the man with the cocky mouth, it was not his concern.

Aidan stood, lowering his head in shame. He’d known this was coming and he’d dreaded it. Never in his _I-want-to-fuck-my-boss_ masturbation fantasies had he been hooked up to a shock collar. He slid one thumb gently under the elastic of his boxer’s waistband, then slowly slid them down, pushing them away with one sock-clad foot. He did not sit down again, nor did he speak.

A sigh came from the dark. Richard masked it soon enough; he was quieter when his own hand snuck down under the button and further still, until a finger teased sensitive skin. Aidan was gorgeous. He wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed him before. He'd given him commendations and he was good; not in all his years for the company had Richard been down to seen him, especially not in this light. "Lie down," he tried not to let his voice betray him. "Touch yourself. Your hands are worth a million each. Let me see their worth."

 _A million each?_ Aidan thought, full of incredulity. _Pity I’ll never see it!_

Aidan sat down on the edge of the bed, then slid his body back a bit. He, of course, was used to having his hands free while he wanked, so this was going to be a challenge. He tried to take his mind to one of his fantasies of Mr. Armitage. In his favorite, he was working late in the IT department and Richard came into his office. This, of course, had never happened, but a guy could dream. 

Mr. Armitage would, of course, be wearing those insanely sexy glasses of his… maybe a cardigan. He felt himself hardening and he hadn’t even touched himself yet. Hastily, he moved his hands to rectify that, cupping his bound hands around his growing erection as best he could. It was awkward, to say the least.

All his unease aside, Richard was so far unimpressed with what he saw. Not to mistake him, he loved what he saw. The younger man on his bed, completely at his whims and already aroused—it was quite the sight indeed. His own hand wrapped around his cock. His pants were too tight to do much more, though the pressure felt good for the moment. "A million, Mr. Turner," he said, "I expect you to give me at least a bit of a show."

A wank would be insufficient, if he could get more from him. "Talk to me. Tell me what you think of."

“W-when I do this?” Aidan’s cheeks, under the blindfold, turned scarlet. He licked his lips and began stroking. He felt he could talk about it, as long as he didn’t have to look into those piercing blue eyes. “I-I’m in my office, and you knock on the door. You barge in without waiting to be invited, of course, and that’s part of what turns me on. You close the door behind you. We’re all alone,” Aidan finds a comfortable rhythm and position. “Y-you don’t speak, at all. You just _look_ at me, in those ridiculously sexy glasses, and pull me from my chair and start k-kissing me. Just like that. And it’s okay, because it’s exactly what I want,” Aidan breathes and increases his pace, hips grinding. “You are aggressive. I knew you would be. You want me. You bend me over my desk and you strip off my pants and t-touch me—you touch me all over.” Richard could see a sheen of sweat forming on Aidan’s body. “You walk away to make sure the door is locked and then you…” he gasped, dangerously close to coming.

There was no drop of saliva on Richard's tongue to wet his lips. His hand moved out of his pants and was rubbing himself though his trousers. Aidan wasn't lying. There was no way he could have thought this up on the spot; not when Richard forced him and all logical thought should have fled him by now. He didn't think that such a scenario could ever come true, because it was not who Richard was. He didn't dally with employees.

Except he was now, and his skin felt taut and constricting, and he needed more. Far too soon, he decided that watching wasn’t enough. The remote buzzed another shock through Aidan. Richard had no reason other than that it'd be hot and it would fuck with his mind to jolt him while he was so obviously close. Then Richard was off his chair.

Richard wasn’t nice about it. He pulled Aidan up by his shirt, contemplated removing the blindfold but didn't, and pushed down anything from his hips that could obstruct. The belt went first. "Suck me," he commanded. "Don't you dare come."

The shock hurt Aidan more than he let on. Again, he’d told the truth and it earned him pain. Seconds later, when he heard the rush of Richard approaching, he realized that Richard must have shocked him because something he’d said hit too close to home. He dropped to his knees. Richard was hard, Aidan noticed, as his dick smacked him in the face several times as he tried to find it with his open mouth, but once he had Richard’s cock in his mouth, he knew that—although Richard had his finger on the button of the shock collar—Aidan was the one in control. He gave splendid head, thank you very much, and went about proving that to Mr. Richard Armitage.

Richard smelled of some ludicrously expensive soap, and he was well-endowed, just as Aidan had suspected. He imagined he looked a sight, blindfolded with his lips stretched around Richard’s engorged dick. His hips leapt forward suddenly and he put his hands down on his thigh to steady himself. Then, he realized those hands could be much better served cupping Richard’s balls. He deep-throated the software magnate, humming just a little and using his tongue to add even more to the experience. He gave head like his life depended on it—since it probably did.

It wasn't just Aidan's heart that was hammering in his throat. Richard was lost, the moment the mouth pulled him in. He had been leaking before, and he couldn't tell how poorly off he was now. He no longer thought of Aidan as an expensive whore; whores wouldn't want him with such abandon when they already had his money. "Oh god," he groaned. Richard berated himself for it instantly. His hands tangled in Aidan's loose curls. Once or twice he pushed himself deeper inside the hotness of his mouth, and earned a deliriously good gag for it. The remote was soon tossed on the bed in favor of other things.

"Did you think of this in your office after working hours too?" his rasping voice broke the silence, preferring to speak lest he dissolve into embarrassing moans.

Aidan pulled off with a wet pop. “I’ve had so many different fantasies about you that I’d lost track. Now I can add another to my spank bank,” he smiled subtly and licked a stripe up the bottom of Richard’s cock, then swallowed the organ once more, determined to have Richard come undone.

Somehow, they were exactly the right words. The man above him wanted to push him to the wall and fuck him until his legs gave in. He wanted to have it all. A tiny sliver of sense told him that he couldn't, not with a captive who had eased his way into that inner circle of people that deserved more within a day. The fact that he still lived was testament of that. And what a waste it would have been, to not have had this.

It was supposed to be a one-off thing. Then Aidan mentioned he had more than one fantasy, and Richard determined that the investigation would be allowed to take its time. He thrust into Aidan's mouth and groaned. His fingers clenched. Then, without warning, he came white hot inside. His mouth shaped into a soundless cry as his head fell back.

"Swallow," he commanded.

Aidan mumbled something around his pulsing cock that sounded like, “Yes, Sir,” and did just that, milking Richard through the aftershocks, a cold steadying hand on the inside of his thigh. After he licked Richard clean, Aidan allowed himself to fall back on his haunches. “Mr. Armitage,” he asked quietly. “I know I don’t deserve it, after all the trouble I’ve caused you, but I’d like very much if you’d let me come.” He pulled away a bit, as if expecting a punch.

Exhausted, standing with stray strands of hair falling in front of his face and lips parted, Richard looked down at the man at his feet. He should make a grab for the remote—it lay unprotected on the bed, and it'd be too easy for Aidan to get if he was quick about it. If he escaped from him like that, Richard wasn't sure if he could be this generous again. He didn't move for it. Instead he nodded and said, "Very well. You may touch yourself."

Richard could tell from the small pout forming on Aidan’s lips that he hadn’t said quite what Aidan wanted to hear. But Aidan realized that Richard granting him release was a big, big deal and he wasn’t about to squander it. He lowered his bound hands to his engorged cock. The smell of Richard’s arousal was thick in the air and it didn’t take more than a dozen or so strokes before Aidan was coming, head lowered and panting heavily. “Thank you, Mr. Armitage,” he said huskily, after he’d regained his composure.

It was a pity, Richard thought, that he didn't fully give into it. His breathing had become shallower when, fully spent, he saw Aidan touch himself. He sat so close to his hand, working himself. And then he came, and it was subdued. But he couldn't let himself get distracted now. Fully stepping out of his pants, he let them lie in a puddle at Aidan's knees. On his way to the bathroom he picked up the remote, and ignored the man as if he wasn't there.

"Don't drip on the carpet," he casually said, and then, "Get dressed."

 _Just like that,_ Aidan thought, he was dismissed. He heard a faucet turn on, and wondered if he could get away with removing his blindfold. He’d have a hell of a time finding his clothing in the dark. He reached up with his bound hands and carefully raised the blindfold covering one eye.

Richard could see from a mirror, and he didn't mind. Not many visitors entered his loft, except some who worked for him and had years in his service. Because he wanted to see Aidan’s reaction to the luxurious place and the great view over Central London, he flicked on the light. "Actually, don't get dressed," he said. Aidan looked much better, his legs tucked under him and bare.

“Thank you, Sir,” Aidan felt incredible relief at having his sight back. “I—my hands are messy. From the— _you know._ ” He found himself blushing far more easily when he could see his former employer’s face. “I don’t want to make a mess. You have a very lovely home.” He hoped he sounded sincere, for he was.

"I know," the other simply said back.

Toweling his hands dry, he exited the bathroom and shut the door behind him. The tall windows looking out over a sea of lights were not obscured by curtains. Anyone with a star gazing kit could see Aidan half-naked. Richard basked in that thought, but chose not to mention it. He threw the towel over to him. "There's water where you'll be staying. Get up."

Not waiting, Richard walked to a door opposite his bed. It was password-protected and heavy, and the code he used to open it contained—Aidan counted—twenty-three digits. A prime number; typical for a master hacker. Then he opened it and stepped aside. "There you go. Now, I should explain you the house rules. You're going to be in here during the day, during the night, and most of the evenings. If you're good, you can come out. If you're not, you can stay there for as long as you'll be here. There will be food, and some books. If they're not to your liking, well," he smiled gentlemanly, "be on your best behavior. I'm not a bad host, if you behave."

Aidan nodded. He didn’t plan on being anything less than angelic. As attractive as Richard Armitage was, he was also terrifying. He rather liked the idea of being one room away from him, but he wasn’t going to assume that because he was alive right now he was going to stay that way. He rose, holding the towel primly over his privates and walked into the small, secure room—making sure Armitage got a good look at his adorable little ass as he passed by.

Richard did look.

Then he promptly pushed the door shut, reinstated the lock, then looked down at his cock, no longer half-limp, and wondered how he was going to survive the next few days.


	2. Security

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Armitage International's head of security, Dean O'Gorman.
> 
> Richard begins following up on some possible leads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard Armitage written by BlueMonkey
> 
> Aidan Turner and Dean O'Gorman written by ThornyHedge

Aidan was afraid when Richard first opened the door to his prison that he was going to be shoved into some sort of closet. But he was surprised to find a room larger than his entire flat—and better appointed. His first stop was the bathroom. He was desperate to get clean, especially if Richard was planning to see him naked again.

He couldn’t remove his shirt, due to the infernal straps binding his hands. He started up the shower regardless, slipping the garment to the very ends of his arms and holding it outside the shower curtain, allowing the hot water to cascade down over him. He couldn’t wash his hair, or use the soap, so this cursory hot rinse was going to have to see him through until he was more trustworthy.

Aidan allowed his thoughts to travel to Adam. Was his friend really capable of using his password to pull off such a giant cyber-crime? Would he dare? He was fearful of the consequences to his seemingly-meek friend if he had dared steal from Richard Armitage. More troubling was the notion that all signs would point back to Aidan and he’d wind up chained up in an old refrigerator and tossed into the Thames.

He fell into bed, wearing just his damp shirt. On the ceiling, he noticed a camera. It seemed to be switched off at the moment. His dreams were restless and his sleep pretty much non-existent. 

But, Richard smiled to himself even as he lay in bed, the camera still had an audio track running. It was on whenever the room was occupied, which meant that he was currently listening to the soothing run of water.

What a day, this had been. What was supposed to be a regular day at the office turned into chaos, then a manhunt, which led from one thing to another. He was still two million pounds short, that he suspected he would never get back. And out there, someone had possession of his data. Shipping records, transitions; everything illegal over the course of the last few years was in those files.

But somehow he'd ended up forgetting about that with a blowjob from the prime suspect. What a day.

\-------

No curtains meant an early wake-up call. Aidan, not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, groaned and pulled the bed’s other pillow over his head. Then, he properly remembered where he was. After that, waking up was no problem. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.

He got out of bed, a sore reminder that his pants and underwear were in the other room with Richard, and went to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and examined the small bruise on his cheek from Richard’s love tap the day before.

Sighing, he went back into the other room, where he pulled the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around himself. Then he sat in an armchair near the giant plate glass window and watched the city come to life far below him.

There was no alarm clock in the room—he didn't need it—but if there was, it would have read 6 a.m. Too early for people living close to work, like Richard, and yet he was up in the adjacent room. Breakfast would come later. For a blissful moment he was unaware of anything being wrong in the world. Then the events of the past day poured into his consciousness again, and he groaned.

A less menacing buzz was sent to Aidan's collar.

Wake up, it implied.

There would be no sleeping in while he was here. As long as Aidan was his guest, he was also his prisoner. It would not do to be nice to people in captivity.

The shock was so sudden that Aidan nearly fell from his chair. He’d almost dozed off watching the fog roll in across the river. _Ungh,_ he thought. _Looks like the lord and master is awake._

He hurried to the bathroom. He looked dreadful. His hair was a mess. Hastily he put some water in it and tried to tame the unruly curls, but to little avail. He hoped Richard liked a tousled look, because that’s what he was stuck with this morning.

The door unlocked with an unnecessary sigh. Richard liked his remotes. He could control the entire loft from where he lay in bed. So he also overrode the light switch before dropping the electronic blinds down in the room, and closed his eyes, waiting for Aidan to come out.

Something crawled through his veins this morning. Not that he needed any moral reconsiderations. Aidan himself had practically offered the first blowjob. Richard had no qualms about proper prisoner etiquette after that. "Come here, Turner," he called out.

Aidan came to him hesitantly, hands held modestly over his privates. “G-good morning, Mr. Armitage,” he said quietly, concerned that the normally dapper businessman was still under the covers. “Are you feeling all right?”

"Could be better," the man said back, "Today will not be a great day. Imagine explaining to the Board how files got copied." Even he, the most influential person in the company, had someone to answer to. That was scheduled at nine o'clock. "So what excuse do you want your friends and family to get for your absence? I can arrange for sick leave, an arrest at the station, or a business trip."

“I—I have family in Ireland. We would say that one of them took ill,” Aidan suggested. He didn’t dare say anything else. He didn’t want to further remind Richard of his role in the fiasco.

Richard grunted. "Fair enough." He looked him over once, and his eyes rested on his hips a little longer than needed. A smile appeared on his face. Not a nice one; rather a plotting one that saw a great chance. "Sit on me."

“You want me to sit on your—on your?” but Aidan couldn’t finish.

"Sit on me," Richard said again, and closed his eyes as if he hadn't just told him to do something that was completely illogical for a prisoner.

Aidan was sure he looked like a clumsy dolt, but he didn’t want to anger Richard. He moved to the bed, climbing carefully up next to the older man, and straddled his hips, over the comforter, easing down on top of his crotch carefully.

Under him, Richard let out a content sigh. "Much better." He found the weight on his hips to be welcoming. It wouldn't be bad to wake up like this more often. But he forgot his manners. "Now," he started, "You made no mention of anything more than a blowjob yesterday. I believe you insinuated you just offered because you wanted to. I'll be fair, here. Suck me again like you did yesterday, and I'll remove the cuffs from your wrists."

There was not a care in the world. Richard's lazy smile continued to be plastered on his face while he lay there with eyes closed and his head supported on the pillow and arms underneath.

“Will you feed me some real food afterwards?” Aidan had a baser need than pleasure and it was breakfast. 

Richard chuckled. "There's milk in the fridge. Help yourself. You'll get food either way." Interested as he was in this new situation, he didn't want Aidan to go down on him on an empty stomach. He wasn't that heartless.

“I just wanted to make sure there was something in this for me,” Aidan smiled down at Richard. He climbed off the bed. “I’m going to pull the covers away from you now. Please don’t shock me again. It hurts,” he told him, taking hold of the corner of the comforter and cautiously pulling it away to reveal a very naked Richard Armitage. Something like a purr escaped from Aidan’s lips before he could stop himself.

Richard raised a brow. That had not gone unnoticed. He couldn't help it, but he felt rather pleased. The man he held in lockdown looked good, was good at blowjobs, and apparently loved giving them. Although his morals appeared slightly loose from his point of view, Richard couldn't complain. He really had gone too long without, so he took hold of this opportunity with both hands. "Come here," he said finally, in an uncommon welling up of generosity, and gestured to Aidan's hands.

He grabbed for a key from the cabinet and unlocked the bindings for him.

Aidan beamed and rubbed at his sore wrists. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, as he had yet to take Richard’s dick into his mouth. But he was prepared to show his gratitude. As soon as Richard laid the key and straps aside, Aidan descended on his beautifully-curved cock and took it deep into his throat, humming with contentment. 

And the man on the bed had only seconds to enjoy the first time witnessing an unsolicited smile—it was ridiculous how it changed everything about Aidan from glum and brooding to not a care in the world—and then his back stretched taut. No warning was given. But god, he loved it. The hot pressure of tongue against skin, the saliva that coated him, and then there was that part where Aidan didn't hold back but went all out. "Fuck," he hissed, "More of that."

Before Aidan would walk out of this building, Richard swore there and then that he would have had him ten times over.

When Richard grew taut and shot his load, Aidan swallowed it eagerly. “You even taste wealthy,” he told Richard. “A taste I could get used to,” he finished, sadly. He pulled the covers back up over Richard’s nudity, and picked up his jeans and underwear, glad to find them still in the room. “Can I wear these?” he wondered.

"I'll have someone pick up some clothes at your place," Richard lazily smiled in post-orgasmic bliss, looking up at the ceiling. He could get used to this too. Needless to say, that's not what he told Aidan. Captives didn't need leverage over their captors. He didn't care about insinuating someone having been to Aidan's place, and returning there shortly. "But sure. Get back in the room. I need to get ready. Someone'll be over with breakfast within half an hour. You can still get the milk."

Wait. This man was really his prisoner?

Aidan was genuinely surprised by Richard’s complete one-eighty. He pulled on his boxers and jeans, grateful for the free hands—and having his ass covered. When he opened the refrigerator, he was suddenly swept by sadness. There was nothing in the refrigerator but a quart of milk and some take-out boxes. Did Richard have no one in his life to care for—including himself? He wondered which of them was really worse off as he slipped past Richard and back into his prison.

The door sealed into place easily. Richard sat staring at it for a long while after. He thought he could hear the shuffling of feet through the room and shut off the sound from where he could hear it. It was hard to believe that this man caused him so much trouble. In fact, it was hard to think he had never seen him before. He was the kind of guy he could... no. This was strictly business.

With a tense jaw, he got up and got ready. The rest of the morning, his mind was elsewhere.

Aidan, on the other hand, was bored out of his mind. Without a computer or cell phone to occupy his time, he was hard-pressed to entertain himself. He took a long, proper shower, availing himself of the many soaps and hair care products Richard kept in the cabinet. 

There was a clean beige bathrobe hanging on the door, so he put it on. Wandering back out into the sunlit room, he made the bed. Then, he perused the small pile of books on the bedside table. One in particular caught his eye. It was a book his mum had read to him when he was a little boy, and he found reading it always cheered him. He picked up “The Hobbit” and curled up in the morning sun to read.

\-------

A few blocks down from that window, in the bustle that was London, a knock brought Richard out of his reverie. He was at the office, top level, and had taken the chance to look into the IT department when he passed it, in the company of his associates, and smiled inwardly when he thought that this was where Aidan had pictured them. A too brightly-lit room with too many printers and servers, and too little peace.

"Sir?" asked a short blond, closing the door behind him. "We looked at surveillance cameras. Aidan leaves his desk two minutes before the attack. But," he hesitates there, though he seems to want to get it over with as soon as possible and doesn't leave space for Richard to interfere, "nobody else mans his computer while he's gone."

Dean O’Gorman had been the head of security at Armitage International a scant two years, and he still had a healthy fear of Richard Armitage. “However,” he went on to say, “that doesn’t preclude the possibility of remote access. Video makes it nearly impossible to see what’s happening on a computer screen due to magnetic interference. But it’s very possible someone accessed Turner’s machine remotely. It would have to be someone who knew his passwords.”

The results so far were being researched fast. If this kept up, Richard would have to return Aidan back to society within a day or two. "Look up camera footage of every employee in IT, and try to find out where Turner was at the moment of the attack. He claims it was planted from a guest computer. Start out there."

He pinched his nose. And then there were meetings with the duped customer this evening, and more board meetings before that. A cursory glance over Dean made him wonder. "Did you know him? Turner?" He must have had friends within the department. And oh, for God's sake, couldn't this man ever not look awkward around him?

“I—I did, Sir,” Dean told Richard. Though he really wanted to lie, what was the point? Richard could find out anything. Hell, he probably already knew the answer. “We were—partners, I guess you could say. For about a year.”

That wasn't the answer that the other hoped for. His curiosity dropped and spiked at the same time. "I meant as friends, but I suppose that works too." That meant that Aidan had had those glorious lips around Dean, one time, as well. "Why did it end?" he wondered.

It was easier to focus on that instead of what he should be asking—like weaknesses, curiosities, or other things that might be suspicious.

“If you must know, we had different life goals. I wanted to go further. He was content to sit behind a desk and program. Truth is, he’s really, really gifted… but he was lazy,” Dean told him. “We fought about it. He moved out.”

"He hacked our system," and gave Richard two blowjobs that begged for more within a twelve hour window span, "That seems rather ambitious." But the truth was, he didn't like it. Richard didn't like how this young man who worked hard was already much closer to finding out what happened. As soon as the data was recovered, that would be the end of it.

"I nearly severed his fingers. Is he left-handed, or right? He wouldn't tell me." A pause. "Doesn't it bother you? I can get you off the case if it's too personal. You're investigating someone you used to share a bed with."

“He’s left handed,” Dean offered, trying not to show his growing concern, “but I have to be honest with you, Mr. Armitage, despite Aidan’s skills, I don’t believe he did this. He may have had the knowledge and the opportunity, but he has very strong principles. Granted, we _did_ call our relationship quits, but it wasn’t because I didn’t love him…” he looked away, distractedly.

Left was the one that received the blunt of the knife. Richard thought about how the bruise must look. He hadn't seen it, though they'd been too distracted to think about it. He sighed. "He confessed. Not about the data, but the worm was his. Do you still...?"

“I really would prefer not to talk about it, Mr. Armitage,” Dean said abruptly. “I am competent to carry this investigation through in an un-biased manner, but—and I must be perfectly frank here—asking me about my relationships borders on sexual harassment. And our company has a very strict sexual harassment policy, does it not?”

"Tell Aidan about it," Richard groaned. He quickly muffled that comment away though, and nodded. "You're right, I apologize. It was something he said rather than me questioning your ability to lead this to a good end. I trust that if you're comfortable enough to do this, you'll continue objectively. Anything suspicious, you let me know. If he's stealing lunch from the others, you let me know."

The thing was, if Dean still liked Aidan—and he did, or he wouldn't avoid the subject—then it probably didn't end a long time ago.

And if that was the case, then he really wasn't sure what to think of services rendered.

“I know that you are a fair and reasonable man,” Dean told him. “If you are holding Aidan, you must have a very good reason. My opinions shouldn’t matter. It’s your company, Sir. The answer to your question is yes, I loved him very much, despite our differences. The problem is, he stopped loving me,” he said softly. “Now, if we’re all done here, I have work to accomplish.” He turned on his heels and left Richard’s office.

"Dean!" Richard called after him. When the man turned, he nodded once. "If you're working late today, order a nice and expensive dinner on my tab, for once." 

So that's how you got in between exes. You had one captive and bothered the other about it. He'd rather that Dean didn't find out about Aidan in his custom panic room. Connor knew, and he knew how to keep his mouth shut. But the ramifications on the long term had just gotten a lot more serious than only Aidan avoiding him, which he was likely to do. If the man told Dean, well, better not to think about that yet.

And so when four o'clock reared its tail, usually signaling four more hours at the least, Richard instead got up from his desk, checked out with Dean once more to tell him he could reach him on his cell phone any time, and to take that dinner offer from him, and left the office.

How strange, to be stuck in a rush hour traffic jam trying to get home.

He had no appetite for Aidan when he finally unlocked the cell, much later. He just sat there, the television tuned in to on some documentary that he wasn't paying attention to, and waited for the man to saunter into the room before he asked, "How was your day?"

Aidan kept his face passive as he admired Richard in his tailored grey suit. “Your man—Connor?—brought me some food, twice. I did some reading,” he shrugged, still in his bathrobe. “The view is beautiful from up here,” he said wistfully looking out over the cityscape. “How did the meetings go?” he asked, afraid to meet Richard’s eye.

"Ah," Richard shrugged. "Dreadful. There'll be a follow-up tomorrow, because a few had to leave early, and I had other meetings planned. Not much about the data, unfortunately." Fortunately, he thought to himself. He placed the book he was making notes in aside and focused on the television.

"Didn't your clothes arrive yet?" Then, as careless as he could come across, he mentioned, "Some O'Gorman leads your investigation. You know him?"

Aidan’s eyes widened at the mention of Dean’s name. He knew, of course, the position Dean held in the company, and imagined he have some role in bring the perpetrator to justice.

“Yes, I know Dean,” Aidan told Richard. “But something tells me you already knew that.” Aidan was suddenly struck with a strong desire to go to Richard, rub his shoulders, try to ease away the stress of his day. But how could he, when he was the source of all the stress?  
Instead, he told Richard. “No, no clothing yet. This bathrobe is rather comfortable though. It’s been a long time since I’ve sat around in a dressing gown doing nothing.”

"Are you naked underneath?" Not that it was any of Richard's business, but he quite liked the idea. It certainly beat thinking about Dean, though Dean was that kind of person that would not leave you alone in thoughts, even though you wanted to. "He was your partner. I offered to get him off the investigation, but he wouldn't hear of it. Your family thinks you're ill and your friends think you're in Ireland, by the way. Nobody should miss you while you're here."

Without intentional thought, he let his eyes slide down to Aidan's hand. It looked bruised. He'd forgotten all about it. For all the parts where Aidan was his prisoner—with some benefits on the side—it didn't feel like only yesterday Richard threatened to take his fingers off for his insolence.

Aidan followed Richard’s line of vision and pulled the cuff of his robe over the purple, swollen appendage. He was fortunate to have found some paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet, as it did grow painful—oddly enough—after his hands were unbound.

“And yes,” he told Richard. “Of course I’m naked underneath. It’s part of the fun of wearing a bathrobe. You should try it sometime.” He smiled softly.

"Show me, then." But Richard, though not untrue in expressing that he'd like to see, waved it off as soon as the words were spoken. "No, don't. I'm not serious. Is it broken, your hand?" He switched channels and kicked off his shoes. The noise of the television on the background was comfortable. He wasn't great with company. "You know, you'd be out of here much sooner if you'd tell me who you bet with."

“It’s sore, but I don’t think it’s broken,” Aidan unconsciously rubbed at his left hand with his right. “And there was no wager, Richard. I had aspirations, and I was foolish. Can I tell you a secret?” he leaned forward earnestly in his chair. “You might not like it, though,” his face darkened. “I didn’t know about you… that you were anything but a self-made software magnate, a genius. Living with Dean, of course, I found out. Pillow talk, you know. I didn’t want to believe it—about you. Things that you did, on the side. I really admired you. What you’d done, your accomplishments. I mean, I still do… it’s just, you know, a bit of tarnish. But,” Aidan leaned in conspiratorially, “I planted the worm to show you that even your failsafe corporation isn’t so safe. You need a chief of cyber security who has a vested interest in the company and in you. In retrospect, undermining the network was a stupid way to prove that point. You’ll never trust me again.” He looked away. “Even when it turns out that I didn’t steal your data—which I didn’t—my career is over.”

It had to be the most Aidan had spoken to him, instead of only pleading for his innocence like he had before. Richard hadn't even coaxed all of it out of him. "I would have appreciated it a lot more if you hadn't chosen that moment to do it," which was actually true, even though someone hacking his systems, personally designed to keep everyone out, and a decent piece of virtuosity if he said so himself. Richard had spent years perfecting that system. But the greater it got, the more proud he had become of it. While other companies hired professionals to try and seek out the flaws, apparently one of his employees had decided that it needed to be done. 

"It cost us a lot of money and a client, while you could have prevented that. And the data. If you don't have it, someone else still does. I can't let you run while we're in the dark. Everything you have is in your best interest. Even if it won't buy you back your career. Only someone stupid would think he'd still have a job after pulling a stunt like that, and you're not."

He rewound his thoughts. "Dean told you, you say? He mentioned the things I do, and he specifically called me by my name?"

Aidan’s head shot up when he realized he’d incriminated Dean. “Richard,” Aidan began. “H-he did tell me, and he did use your name. But it wasn’t to hurt you. He did it to hurt _me._ Dean worships you, Richard. Please don’t think less of him because of this.”  
Richard could tell there was more to it than that, but Aidan didn’t say anything else. 

"He would want to hurt his partner, using me?" Richard smiled without any joy. Odd. It was then that someone knocked on the door and he blinked out of it.

"Mr. Armitage," one of his men opened the door—looking slightly off upon seeing his boss with his captive in what seemed to be a cozy conversation. "Pizza. I'll uh, I'll just leave it on the counter, yes?"

Richard snapped out of it as soon as the door shut. "You're going to explain that," he said, "As soon as I get back with the pizza." He got up to get the food.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Aidan lay his head against the back of the leather armchair. How the hell was he going to talk his way out of this? _Dean, I’m so sorry,_ he feared for Dean’s safety. Dean had never been anything but wonderful to him. Aidan just never measured up. He was too much of a dreamer. Well, he was surely dreaming if he thought the next few hours were going to go smoothly.

Soon enough, Richard returned with two plates of pizza. He handed the one on the cardboard plate over to Aidan—one could never be too careful and hand him a porcelain plate that he could chip and use as a weapon—and said, "Everybody likes margherita, right?" and sat back down. "So. Dean. Don't worry, he works hard and if he misses a step I'll have leverage over him. But I am interested in finding out why he'd hurt you, and why he'd do it using me."

Aidan took a deep breath and told Richard the truth. “He told me about what you do—about your _other_ activities, I mean—because he thought I held you in too high regard. I made the mistake of telling him that I … admired you. I think he was jealous.” Aidan suddenly wasn’t hungry for the pizza in his lap.

"You really admired me?" Aidan made mention of it before, but Richard thought that they were simply compliments to get out of the tricky situation he'd gotten himself in. "I'm sorry. I just find it very hard to connect admiration and assault. Aren't you eating?" He took a slice of his tuna pizza from his plate, "They're really good."

“Admire,” Aidan clarified. “What he told me didn’t change that. And I know I fucked up, Richard. I confessed as well. Believe me when I tell you I couldn’t possibly feel more terrible about it,” he shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t know someone was going to steal data from you the same day I planted the worm. That was very, very unfortunate timing.”

Richard looked away, slightly disappointed with the constant repetition of those sentences, covered up in different words. They had lost their novelty. "You mentioned that already, yes. Listen, if you don't like the pizza, we can switch. I suggest you eat something either way. I've got matters to attend to in an hour, and you'll be back in your cell. Unless you give me a lead, I've got possible suspects to interrogate."

Aidan picked up a slice of his pizza tonno and took a bite, even though he’d lost his appetite. He mechanically finished the slice, then put his plate down. “Thank you for the food, Mr. Armitage,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to tell you worth hearing,” he got up from his chair and headed towards the open door of his cell.

Aidan was the first occupant of that cell—not that there had been many—to voluntarily go back in. It was almost too easy. "I leave in an hour," he said to Aidan's retreating form, "the door'll be open until then. You could—”

But he cut that sentence off right there. Aidan could tell him how he did it. Aside from the actual assault, it still peeved him how Aidan had found that weakness, as well as it intrigued him. "You could watch some television, if you like."

“Uh, well, all right,” Aidan sat down again. “I don’t watch the telly often, honestly. I’m usually at my computer.”

"You can understand that's one thing you're not getting." Richard returned to his book and picked up his marker. He realized he was bonding with his prisoner. His company was nice, and he didn't mind talking to him. Cutting that short, he didn't pay a lot of attention to the man until he chose to strike up a conversation himself.

Aidan was looking at the television, but he wasn’t really watching. His thoughts were all over the place. What could he possibly tell Richard to help him with his investigation and not endanger someone he cared about? Had someone he cared about used his password to steal that data? Why and how had it happened at the exact moment he’d planted his worm?

He was pretty sure the only people who knew of his plan were Adam, possibly James, although their older friend might have left the apartment before he and Adam had the conversation. He couldn’t remember. But he never told Adam when he was going to do it. Someone was watching him, _monitoring_ him. It made his skin crawl and he shivered, pulling the robe around his body.  
"Cold?" Richard wondered while not looking up.

“A little, I guess,” Aidan confessed. He picked up his plate and started eating the other slice of pizza. “And tired, too. I slept very poorly last night.”

"Ah." Richard couldn't offer apologies for that. He looked on his phone to check the time, then shut his book. Without saying anything to Aidan, he got up and headed to a side chamber near his bed. A minute later, he returned with what appeared to be comfortable slacks and a sweater. Old, and he should have thrown them out a long time ago, but they were baggy enough to be an ensured fit. "Until your clothes get here. Now go on. I've plans."

Aidan was continually surprised at how well Richard was treating him. “Thank you, Sir,” he managed, getting to his feet. He put his paper plate on the counter and left for his cell. “I hope everything goes well tonight,” he turned and said.

The thing was, Richard was finding it harder and harder to be convinced Aidan had the data. He tried to be stern. He just, well, he may have eased up a little after two blowjobs after an era of nothing but his own hand. "I hope so too."

But it didn't. It didn't go well. Three hours later, he entered his apartment again and all but threw the door shut. Messing with the remotes, he might have pressed one or two wrong ones in order to get the lights in the kitchen on, and then he tried hard to rub off the stains of blood on his knuckles and, worse, spatters on one of his best suits. A rage warred inside him.

All dead ends. All of them.


	3. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out who the culprit is... and much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aidan and Dean written by ThornyHedge
> 
> Richard and James written by BlueMonkey
> 
> \-----

Aidan fell into a more restful sleep after Richard left. Truth be told, having Richard’s soft cast-off sweater on his pillow and inhaling the scent was partially responsible for his ease.

The hiss of his cell door opening awakened him. He expected Richard to stride into the room, but when he didn’t, Aidan got up and turned on a lamp. He slipped into his bathrobe and went out into Richard’s bedroom. “Mr. Armitage?” he called softly.

The running tap drowned out his whisper, as Richard rubbed vigorously. It wouldn't come off, the blood of two men on his hands. They were a reminder of how they taunted him even now. Repeating Aidan's words over and over. They had nothing to do with this. They swore. They didn't get near Aidan's workstation around eleven fifty-nine. They had claimed so vigorously, while Richard had seen the footage.

When he finally saw the shadow of his prisoner from the corner of his eye, he looked up wildly. His hair was in disarray and his suit messed up and wet from trying to get the spatters off. "Get back in your cell!"

Aidan took a step backwards, then another. “I-I’m sorry,” he gasped. “The door opened. I thought you wanted me.”

"Wanted you?!" Richard called out, appalled. A blowjob—which was, at least, his first thought—was the last thing on his mind. Viciously, he turned off the tap when all he was doing was covering up the blood by darkening the tweed with water, and threw the cursed piece away. Blood was still on his hands. Had he checked a mirror, he'd noticed that a smear ran down his jaw as well. Dangerously he closed in on him. "If I wanted you, I would have called. Get out."

“A-are you hurt, Richard?” Aidan wondered. “Can I help?”

His concern grated worse on Richard's already foul mood. He stared at him long and hard. This was not a good time; his entire system was overloading with anger. But then again, the allure of venting some of that anger appealed greatly. Before he could think about what he was doing—before he could hold himself back, because he was going to regret it—Richard took hold of Aidan's hand, forcefully turned him around, and pressed him hard against the nearest wall.

"I fucking told you to get out," he hissed. "This is your fault, all of it. You couldn't just be a good employee and work hard. You had to mess with everything."

“You’re right,” Aidan admitted fearfully, wincing in pain as Richard twisted his injured hand behind his back. “I messed up. I deserve whatever recrimination you choose to dish out.”

"You do." Richard pressed him further against the rough red brick. "Look at me. Look at the blood of men I'm covered in. You know what I had to do to them? Do you? Do you _think_ I enjoy having my men cut off fingers and toes? You know how shrilly some men can scream? But I do it. I do it, because you created this mess. And the worst part?" He shoved one hand un-gently around Aidan's front and into the fold of his bathrobe. "You don't fucking take responsibility."

“I’m here, Richard,” Aidan gasped at the contact. “I’m accepting responsibility. I’m truly sorry to have destroyed your trust in me. If it would make you feel better to punish me, then do it. I deserve it. God knows, I deserve it.”

Richard growled. His anger funneled too easily in his hands tugging off the bathrobe, completely baring him to the cold of the apartment, and teeth sank down in the neck under his mouth. "How did you?" he demanded. He needed to know. "How did you ruin those lives? What made you find the flaws?" His hand left Aidan's swiftly increasing arousal to coat three digits with saliva—fast and uncaring, and more a habit than concern for Aidan's well-being—and seconds later, a finger was forced inside.

Aidan cried out in pained surprise—too scared to be turned on… and too turned on to be scared. Richard was asking questions he had no idea how to respond to—or even if a response was required. One thing was perfectly clear. Richard Armitage took what he wanted. Aidan had spent so many years longing for Richard that he wasn’t about to quibble about the minutiae. He ground down around Richard’s insistent hand. “More, please, Sir,” he growled.

And Richard vowed to change his punishment, the moment that eager sound reached his ears and made it dawn that whatever he did, this was no punishment. Aidan loved it. Like the world was a playground and he spun everything around, wondering how it would break on impact with childlike fascination, he _wanted_ Richard to do this. Repulsed, he pulled away and threw him on the floor.

"Get away from me," Richard spoke darkly.

Aidan lay, panting, reaching for his bathrobe to hastily cover his nudity. Ashamed, he didn’t speak. He got slowly to his feet and pulled the robe around himself, then retreated to the panic room.

He stood at the bathroom mirror, shaking in fear and frustration. The collar around his neck stood out in stark contrast against his skin. His hand was throbbing, so he chased four pain pills with tap water and crawled into bed. He couldn’t sleep until he heard the hiss of his prison door closing.

That sound didn't come for a long while. In its stead, silence permeated the apartment. And then, the blows. Steady and vicious, they pounded into what seemed like a punching bag somewhere in a room that Aidan had not been permitted inside. Once or twice they were accompanied by a groan of exercise, and several times with a sound of pent-up frustration.

Twenty minutes later, when he finally moved to close the cell, his demeanor was quieted down somewhat; his chest was heaving from the effort, Richard did not wear gloves, and his knuckles were raw and bloody.

When he looked into the cell, his eyes met with his captive’s.

Aidan, when he heard Richard letting off steam, understood why Richard had sent him away. Those punches could have easily been landing on his own flesh. Lord knows he'd earned them. Richard had been sparing him. This only made him appreciate Richard more.

He couldn't understand why Richard wasn't locking the door to his prison, and he trembled at the implications. Then, the sounds of Richard's impromptu work out stopped. Aidan prayed the pain meds had kicked in in time to treat whatever pain Richard was about to inflict on him.

But when Richard came to the door, he appeared to have calmed considerably. Still, Aidan wasn't about to turn his back on his captor.

Richard stood there for a long time, not doing anything. He took in the look of the distraught man in his panic room. Part of him wanted to go over and do terrible things to him.

"Get on your knees," he breathlessly spoke.

Aidan blinked once, twice, unsure if he'd actually heard Richard's request correctly.

He got out of bed, still wearing the bathrobe to comfort him--like a child with a blanket. He figured Richard would want it removed, so he did so, slowly, not breaking eye contact with the unpredictable software developer. He tossed the garment onto the leather armchair and crawled onto the bed towards Richard, halting in the middle.

"Like this?" he dared ask.

"Floor," Richard rasped, "on the floor."

Richard's tone was chilling him to the core, but Aidan complied, climbing off the bed and drawing closer to Richard. He dropped to his knees in between the bed and the door, tacitly inviting Richard to enter the room. Thinking that it might make Richard more comfortable--even though the notion terrified him, he lowered his gaze to the floor submissively, hands resting on his thighs.

But Richard didn't care for submissiveness. He would have what he wanted. At this point, whatever Aidan would tell him would pass him by completely. As he stepped into the room, his hands moved to his belt. His eyes never left the man, though. By the time he reached him, he'd stopped halfway and left Aidan with a half undone buckle.

This man was the cause for everything. And yet he wanted him.

"You know what to do."

Aidan looked up, suddenly. He was cranky from lack of sleep, and withdrawal from his computer.

"Honestly?" he defiantly locked eyes with Richard. "All that posturing and punching and anger--and all you want is another _blowjob?_ "

The gall of it managed to still Richard—though for better or worse was too soon to say. It was not in Aidan's best interest to question him, least of all when he was still tethered to the edge, like now.

"Excuse me?"

Aidan cleared his throat. "I thought by now that you might want _more_ from me, Mr. Armitage," Aidan leaned back on his heels, eyes skipping carefully away from the blood stains on Richard’s suit jacket. "Don't misunderstand me. I will do whatever it takes to—to de-stress you. Sucking your gorgeous cock is not a hardship for me."

Feeling a little more confident, Aidan scootched forward and closed his teeth around Richard's belt buckle, and leaned back, pulling the accessory through all the loops and freeing it. He spat it onto the floor and reached up to unzip Richard's fly, lowering Richard's gray silk trousers and underwear enough to grant him access to Richard's dick.

"Are you calling the shots here?"

Richard pulled Aidan's face up to meet his eyes when he was given no response. He stared down hard, everything about him tense, and ready to strike out. "You fucking _like_ this?"

"I like _you,_ Richard. Mr. Armitage," he corrected. He knew Richard could feel him trembling. "I realize, just from the short time I have actually been with you that you aren't accustomed to anyone liking you." He drew in a slow—and he hoped, steadying—breath, and continued. "I told you I dreamed of the opportunity of being able to be with you. So, I suppose you could say that, yes, I like this, what you're doing to me, with me, too." He reddened. "I'm sorry that you've been lonely. That you feel you have to keep people at arm's length."

They weren't the words that Richard had expected, suspected, or even wanted to hear. As his eyes took in the pitiful heap that was Aidan, another current of anger surged up. "Don't talk like you know me. If I have you, I will not be kind. I will not care if you live past my hands around your neck. How can you ruin so much and still be able to say such things?"

He pulled his hand away. Richard felt appalled. It was meant as punishment. It was supposed to hurt. Now, it was like someone took his rage and turned it against him. And if he didn't have that right now, then what did he have?

The back of his hand met with Aidan's cheek for the second time.

Aidan wasn't surprised Richard struck him. He was surprised the man didn't continue to hit him. If Richard thought he wasn't afraid of him, he was wrong. He was terrified. He fully expected to die in this room or by his hand sometime soon. He'd been careless and arrogant. He was ashamed of himself.

"I'm sorry, Sir," he said softly, but with more detachment in his tone than before. He had to distance himself from this. His emotions were having a negative affect on Richard. He returned to the task at hand, pulling himself towards Richard using a hip for leverage and proceeding to finish what he started, mechanically taking Richard's flaccid cock into his hand and coaxing it back to life.

Although he needed release—it always calmed him down—Richard was no longer in the mood. He took a step back, his cock falling from Aidan's hand, and looked at him one moment longer. Then he shocked him coldly and walked out the door.

It shut with a sense of finality.

Richard left the intercom on, if only because he longer to listen to the man's frantic breathing, as he lay down on the bed and set off to do what Aidan could not.

\-----

Dean nearly dropped his binoculars when Richard backhanded Aidan across the face. The blonde sat on the balcony of his apartment, conveniently located within sight of Mr. Armitage's loft. After his conversation with Richard that afternoon, he became suspicious about Richard's flimsy story about Aidan traveling home to Ireland to visit a sick relative.

While in his heart, he garnered both remorse and anger towards Aidan, he couldn't bear to see him hurt. Unfortunately, he was directly responsible for it.

He picked up his cell phone and made a call. "James? Hey, it's me. Armitage has Aidan. He completely suspects him--of everything. You were right. We picked the perfect time. Has the money been wired yet? Well, keep the pressure on. We delivered, now it's their turn. Can you come over?"

He put his phone away and continued to watch as Aidan cried himself to sleep.

\-------

Unbeknownst to him, Richard treated his surroundings as though nobody was there—all except for the quiet sobs so easily distinguishable in the otherwise silent apartment. It made him be as quiet as he could be; any time Richard vocally gave in too much, he stopped being able to hear it, and he liked hearing it. Aidan crying was both soothing justice, finally after so many attempts at truly intimidating him, of which most seemed to fail by default, and surprisingly gut-wrenching.

Five minutes later, he silently tensed and sighed out, and lay staring at the ceiling for a long time after.

The words Aidan spoke last mulled over in his thoughts. What was he to make of this? But he quickly shook them away. If he lingered on them, they would only make him angry again.

\-------

Dean had been barely able to conceal his contempt for Richard that afternoon, but now, alone in his apartment, he seethed. _How dare he?_ the blond pondered, as he bench pressed with fervor. He wanted to strike out at Richard for hitting Aidan like that.

He was expecting James shortly, so he decided to hop in the shower and get cleaned up. Ten minutes later, prompt as ever, James knocked on the front door. 

"Were you followed?" Dean asked, greeting the older man with a chaste kiss.

"No," James took off his jacket and tossed it carelessly across the chair, like he was used to doing. If now would have been the time, he might have gone for more than that single kiss. It wasn't the time, though. Without waiting for Dean, he moved to the balcony and picked up the binoculars. "What's happening? You sounded a bit odd on the phone just there."

"It's all going according to plan, love," Dean told him. "Except for the fact that we haven't been paid for our efforts. Armitage has Aidan in his safe room. It's pretty clear he's being taken advantage of. I witnessed him hitting him at least once, but knowing Richard, it's not the first time—or the last," he handed the binoculars to James. "You just missed the big show."

Dean strode into the kitchen and opened two beers and brought them out onto the balcony. "I'll feel a lot better when we get our money. It's the waiting that's killing me, James."

After a good long swallow—it was slightly too chilly outside, but a cold beer was a cold beer—James sighed and sat down on one of the plastic fold-up chairs. "So what am I looking at?" he asked again. "All I see is them in separate rooms, asleep or something. No. Wait," he perched onto the front of his seat. Then his eyes sought out Dean's.

"He's bloody crying. Oh, you're cold. Look at you, you're not even blinking. What just happened down there?" That was more his natural curiosity playing up. "It had better not take too long. The longer it takes, the harder it'll be to pretend we don't know anything. I mean, you _are_ head of security."

"That may be so, but I know there's plenty he's not telling me. He's got people everywhere," Dean confided. "I just want this to be over, so I can vanish and not have to keep looking over my shoulder," blond shivered. "In answer to your question, Richard hit him. Scared him. He had blood on his clothing. Could have done much, much worse to him, but knowing Richard, he wouldn't want to get blood on his carpeting."

Dean slid up behind James and put both hands on his shoulders, savoring the warmth of his body. "But no regrets, right? This is our future."

But Dean did have at least one regret.

James nudged the chair to the side. It was worth it. Many times had he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Aidan and he shared many a smoke, and there were more than enough good memories between them. He was a good guy. Naive, but definitely not deserving of this. Except Aidan turned out to be their biggest shot at making it work. He was smart, he seemed to have decided on a plan after Adam’s dare quickly, and he knew how Armitage thought. How fortunate James was to have overheard that conversation on that particular night.

"Our future," he smiled, "I'll be glad if I can leave this godforsaken place behind."

In the apartment at the other end of the spying glasses, Richard was drifting off to sleep, and Aidan still cried.

Freedom required sacrifice.


	4. The Prison With The Great View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets real.
> 
> \-------

Aidan took long, slow deep breaths to try to calm himself after Richard left. He felt better after the door slid closed, and safer knowing he'd have that opening door as a warning when Richard returned. His face hurt, as did his hand, but the worst pain was in his neck where the collar had shocked him for an unbearable length of time under Richard's angry thumb. He actually felt his heart flutter, and for brief seconds entertained the idea that he might be electrocuted. 

Once the door was closed, Aidan helped himself to more pain medicine and crawled naked under the covers, not caring if anyone outside the giant windows saw. He was crying. He couldn't stop. He hated himself for his weakness. 

Thankfully, exhaustion finally claimed him and he dropped into a dreamless sleep shortly after midnight. 

The door did not open the next morning. No one greeted him with either a good morning or a blow to the head. Silence was all there was. No clock ticked in the prison with the great view, so it was down to the height of the sun to guess at the hour.

Nor was there breakfast. The door simply did not move, like life beyond it had ceased to exist.

Aidan wasn’t aware of the many minutes Richard had spent staring at that same titanium entrance from the other side.

The evening that followed proved equally lonely—with but the exception of Connor delivering him some food.

Aidan was afraid to speak to the burly bodyguard who brought him a bag of take-out, but he was grateful, and hungry as hell. He scarfed down the burger and drank water from the sink. Despite his anger at Richard, he found himself slipping into the slacks and sweater Richard had given him.

Richard's absence hopefully meant that he'd found a suspect. _Please, God,_ he begged, curling up in the twilight and staring out at the cityscape. _Help him find out who did this. I need him to believe in me._

It must have been around two o'clock in the morning when the door finally unlocked. 

Nobody entered. In fact everything remained as still as it had been, like there was a mistake—like the mistake a night ago, when Aidan hadn’t been supposed to come out and see Richard bloody and vicious. Except this night the door was opened intentionally. Richard sat in silence on the sofa. Sheets of paper were scattered around him, his glasses still on and a faint light above his left shoulder. It was impossible for him to sleep. He needed, well, he needed company. 

The sound of the door opening jarred Aidan from a dead sleep. When Richard didn't enter, he padded to the bathroom to take a few minutes to freshen up. By God, if he was walking out into the other room to die, he was at least going to have fresh breath and semi-controlled hair.  
He was relieved to find Richard sitting on the couch, but his former employer looked rather disheveled in the dim light. He didn't speak, but walked into the illuminated area, hitching up the slightly baggy trousers as he went. He sat down in the armchair that was placed at an angle to the sofa. 

They say there for a long while, not speaking to each other. Richard leafed through a few more pages. He couldn't keep up the silence very long though. There were reasons why he couldn't sleep, and one of them was seated a short distance from him. 

"I hurt you unnecessarily yesterday, didn't I? How is the bruise?" 

"I'll be all right," Aidan assured him. He looked down at the strewn papers, seeing his name on more than a few of them. "Uh—is there anything here that I can help you with, Mr. Armitage? Anything you need clarification on?" 

He shifted nervously, tucking his cold feet up under him. 

Richard glanced over. "You keep saying that. As a matter of fact, you say a lot of stupid things. For someone who hacked my firewalls, you're one of the poorest people to think about things before you say or do them, so you'll have to forgive me for not believing you if you tell me you’re all right. Show me your face and your hand.” 

Aidan’s reaction was enough reason for him to add, quite kindly compared to other times, “Don't worry. I have no intention of harming you—unless you push it. Don't push it." He was too tired for a fight. All day, he'd been thinking of last night's mess. A proper bruise now blossomed on Aidan's other cheek. Along with that on his left one, and the painfully yellowing patch of broken capillaries on his hand. Aidan was beginning to resemble a painting of violence. The sad thing was that it didn't suit him. Underneath, Richard saw youth and a person who could have smiled at him, once, had Richard not done these things to him. 

He looked down on the papers, then shook his head. "These are your bank transfers. There's nothing out of the ordinary. Groceries, electricity bills, rent. Spotless. You don’t even buy anything ridiculous off the internet. Anything would help, at this point. There's just _nothing_. Not a clue." Though by now he was fairly sure that Aidan wasn't the person who took the data. His laptop. external drives and storage had been thoroughly searched. As had his apartment. "If there's a solution to this puzzle, I don't know how to solve this. All of the leads I had are gone. I wish you could just tell me _something_." 

It was then that he noticed Aidan was still wearing his worn clothes. He nudged his head in the direction of the bedroom. "Your clothes arrived today. They're in a box by the closet." 

Richard didn't really know how to say that he felt like he'd crossed a line the night before. How he'd jerked off to his ex-employee's sobs and then not been able to let go of both the sounds and the shame throughout entire day. Richard didn't do that. He didn't apologize or mention matters of conscience. He had a sense of who he was, and what he was not supposed to say. Though recently, he didn't find himself liking it. 

"One night," Aidan found himself telling the blue-eyed man, "weeks ago, I was smoking weed with a co-worker," he looked down at his hands, knitted together on his lap. "And we were joking—speculating, really—about how brilliant it would be to pull one over on you. Being who you are, and all. I, of course, thought my friend was joking. But the more I thought about it, I realized.... I _could_ pull one over on you. I knew where the weaknesses were." Aidan blinked, and a tear fell onto his lap. "And so, without telling my friend—let me make that perfectly clear—decided to do it. There were only two of us in the room when that conversation happened. But you have to believe me when I tell you that the person I talked to couldn't have possibly pulled off a heist of the magnitude Armitage International experienced. I've known him for years. He's a good man, but just not that skilled." 

Finally, Richard took a deep breath, finally there was proper information shedding a light on Aidan's side. He didn’t want to press it, but frankly it was the only lead he had, and it was in Aidan’s advantage as well to take that and see where it led them. He jotted the marker in his hand in his vest pocket. "Would you let me question him, if I promised you he will come to no harm? It’ll simply be a talk from a boss to his employee. I’ll make it an evaluation if you prefer that. He works for me, doesn't he?" And that offer was genuine. Richard had seen his fair share of clipped fingers and blows to the ribs in days past. It was a part of the job that, unfortunately, allowed him to maintain his position, while he hated the means. Years ago, Richard, would have been fine with just the extortion of faceless companies. But it had crept up on him and had become an unavoidable part of his work now, as ingrained in his reputation as his skill with slipping past security. 

"Thank you for telling me," he added in retrospect. They had resolved little between them yet, but Richard felt like if he'd try to sleep soon, it might actually come to him this time. "So, how did you do it? How did you get into the system? I put my best experts on it, and they couldn't find a thing. I looked at your code myself. How did you know about the weakness, when nobody else did?" 

And oh, had not knowing how the inconspicuous-looking man had done it been bothering him. 

"The weakness," Aidan told him, "isn't a weakness, per se. It's a signature. Like an artist, you sign your work. The problem is, Richard, you sign your work _too_ much. So much, in fact, that it's almost like a bar code, a recurrent theme. My worm was short, yes, but by hiding one character in each of your myriad of signals, I was able to slip it undetected into the system." Aidan rubbed at the bruise on his cheek absently. "It was just a test, to see if it would work. If you check your calendar, I had called your personal assistant the week before to make an appointment with you the next morning to tell you about the weakness," he smiled ruefully. "I never got that meeting, unfortunately." 

"As far as Adam goes," Aidan continued, picking at his sleeve, "you can ask him questions. But other than the dare, he has no clue what I did." Suddenly, Aidan's eyes grew wide. Just like that, he'd accidentally told Richard his friend's name. 

"A week earlier?" He racked his brain. Comprehension lit up across his features. "That was you?" Richard practically flinched. "Miranda said one of the programmers wanted a word with me, but she couldn't tell me what about. I postponed it. I had other things to worry about. And since I didn't hear anything about it anymore, I didn't think it was important. So, you decided to just use your knowledge the best you knew how." He placed the papers away. "Glad you're no Oppenheimer, Turner." He paused. "But make no mistake, you cost us enough either way." 

Nonetheless, though slightly a blow in his face, Aidan's account of how he had gotten in was invaluable. Richard never suspected he had much of a signature. If anything, he always tried to be as generic as he could be. His code was clean; there were no production comments and his variable names were always scrambled. His code could be text book. 

"So, Adam’s his name." The magnate smiled. It was still a slightly tired tug of the lips—not quite the cunning smile he would have given him during the day. "Thank you. I’ll track him down. It'll be a regular conversation, I promise you." He needed to show the man he could be trusted. Right now, Aidan was his biggest shot. 

"Adam," Aidan said sadly. He's the only person who was in the room when we spoke—joked, really—about doing it. I wish I could save you the time and assure you he doesn't know anything." The younger man started picking up some of the papers near his feet and stacking them neatly. 

"I guess I should have pushed harder for that meeting," Aidan handed the papers to Richard. "I'm not terribly good with people. And Miranda is downright scary," he sheepishly admitted. 

On the sofa, Richard chuckled. "You don't have any clue how many people demand my attention on a daily basis, do you? If I didn't have her, I wouldn't get down to my own work at all. She has to be properly intimidating for her to do her job right."  
A new thought occurred to him. 

"What if you could talk to him? Would Adam be more willing to tell you if he knew?" 

"I-uh—maybe," Aidan nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "He might." 

"Would you be able to talk to him without mentioning your location, or me?" Richard started aligning the papers neatly before he put them away. The man under his authority was too nice, truly. He'd been about to snap his neck a day ago. But it was like it just didn't bother Aidan that he had. He looked too calm for someone whose life was consistently threatened. 

"You mean, have a regular conversation with him? I-I could pretend to be calling from Ireland, I suppose..." Aidan said. "Is that what you mean? I can watch what I say, Richard. I won't be reckless. I value my life too much." 

"We can route the phone to have it appear to come from your parents' place. I wouldn't mind you talking to him about unrelated things. It might keep him from getting suspicious. But if you think you can ask him, and he might have information…" Richard, trailing off, got up. A minute later, when he sat back down, coffee was in the process of being made. "Look, I have no intention of keeping you jailed up here forever. I doubt you enjoy being here either. So we might as well work together." 

Aidan's stomach growled at the smell of the dark roast that was brewing. True, he was used to eating more, moving more and he definitely missed his computer. But he didn't say any of those things. "Mr. Armitage, I don't _hate_ being here," he told him. "Granted, it would be much lovelier under different circumstances. Better ones," he scooped up a few more of the fallen papers. This time, when he handed them to his former employer, he sat down at the end of the couch opposite Richard. 

Richard didn't look entirely that impressed with Aidan’s odd declaration of not hating this place. There was a collar strapped to his neck that Richard could and had painfully used on him several times. Rather, Aidan's constant niceties made him wonder if his latest captive was up to something—the silence before the storm, so to speak. "You forget you're still a prisoner. Better circumstances don't exactly apply to us. But say I indulge you for this off time. How would you have it changed?" 

Aidan, not expecting Richard to pursue the subject, found himself blushing. "I—I don't think you really want the answer to that question, Mr. Armitage," he said softly. "I talk too much when I'm scared. I have not forgotten I'm a prisoner here. Not in the slightest. My injuries remind me, if nothing else. Just—just forget I said anything." 

"What you don’t want to do is keep giving me mixed messages," Richard casually spoke. "Just a piece of advice. Do whatever you will with it. You keep saying one thing and then another. It's not exactly making you trustworthy in my books." 

"There seems to be nothing I can say or do to satisfy you—unless it's my mouth on your cock!" Aidan spat in frustration, regretting it instantly. "I-I should go back to my _cell_ ," he stressed, rising. "When you're ready for me to call Adam, you let me know." 

The outburst that followed was immediate. As soon as Aidan got up, a buzz sent him sprawling back to the couch. Richard raised himself up high to tower over the man, and the calm that had been in him a minute ago was completely gone. "Is it on my cock now?” he demanded. “Do I ask for it now? Explain this to me, because I thought we were having a nice conversation." 

"Y-you're intimidating me, Richard. It's not nice at all. It's terrifying," Aidan raised his hand to touch his tingling neck. "I'm scared, I told you. And I'm saying stupid things because of it. My saying 'I'm sorry' doesn't begin to cover it. Nothing I can do can make things better for you—except suffer." 

"I gave you a chance to talk to a friend! How is that intimidating? And you were fucking picking up my papers! I didn’t force you to. You don't have to be here, you know. The door is open—if you'd rather sit in your cage where I'm not, then by all means, please!" Richard was getting frustrated. He didn't understand how this stranger's mind worked. Sometimes he felt bad for things that his quickly explosive frustration made him do. Tonight, he felt he was in the right. "Get out. I'm not even interested in hearing it anymore." 

"You're making me _interrogate_ my friend, while you're watching and listening. My friend is innocent," Aidan insisted. I picked up the papers to help you. I wasn't trying to spy. I just tried to leave and you shocked me. It fucking hurts! Have you tried this collar on?" Aidan's voice had an edge. "You should. Maybe then you wouldn't push that button so capriciously." 

Aidan got up again. "You have _everything,_ ," he said softly, wiping away angry tears. "Everything a man could possibly want or need to be happy. And you are still the saddest, cruelest person I've ever been around. I want to understand you, but I can't. You're making me ashamed of ever finding you remotely attractive. If you push that button again, you'd better just hold it down and kill me!" 

The younger man brazenly turned his back and walked into his cell. 

"Will you, _for once_ , stop talking back to me?" Richard’s anger sky-rocketed. Everything about Aidan screamed defiance. Literally everything. He didn't need a remote to keep him under control. He could prove that. Without more words wasted on a pointless discussion, Richard shot up and caught Aidan by his wrist halfway to the cell. The coffee in the background entirely forgotten, he spun him around and, seething, stared down at him. "You might just wish I pushed that button when I'm done with you. Try and get the remote, and it’s yours. Go on. I dare you." 

And with one swift movement, he had him pushed up against the wall, their chests pressed together. 

"I-I don't want to fight you, Richard,” Aidan’s voice whispered. “I can't possibly win. Dean tried to teach me self-defense. It didn't take," Richard could feel him trembling in fear. 

Richard breathed out. Their noses nearly touched. He tried very hard to be calm about this, though it was hard. The words that came out were suppressed. "Then what _do_ you want? Let's forget I'm me and you're you. What is it? You're sending me all these messages that I can't interpret, because I get it wrong every time. How about you just tell me, straight up, no filters?" 

"Just the other night, you forced me to lie on your bed with my hands bound, wearing a blindfold and tell you what I fantasize about when I wank," Aidan blushed, turning his gaze away. "What more could I possibly tell you, Richard?" 

"That's why you're so impossible?" 

Oh, Richard might have heard those words. He might have thought about them a number of times. But hardly could he have expected them to be truth. His demeanor softened, if only slightly. The other part of his guard wouldn't be let down so easily. 

"I don't love you." 

Yet a hand crept up along Aidan's flank nonetheless, tentatively, trying to gauge his reaction. 

"I don't love you either," Aidan assured him, but his body betrayed him by arching into Richard's touch. "H-how could I? That’s preposterous." he tried to steady himself by placing his hands flat against the wall by his sides. The trousers Richard had given him to wear slid down to rest on his hip bones and Aidan gasped at the contact of Richard's hand against his flesh. 

"Well, I'm glad we have that understanding." 

And Richard mashed their lips together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard Armitage written by BlueMonkey
> 
> Aidan Turner written by ThornyHedge
> 
> \-------


	5. On the Couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Richard was fond of the kind of sex in which everything in its wake ended destroyed. But he could still destroy, taking things painstakingly slow with just the right amount of well-directed touch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard Armitage written by BlueMonkey
> 
> Aidan Turner written by ThornyHedge

The remote lay forgotten, as soon as it dropped from his hand to the floor.  


Richard’s hands were suddenly everywhere. With the purchase of the wall, Aidan had no space to go. It suited Richard to shove his shirt up and meet with virtually no resistance. With his anger still ebbing, he was rougher than he had to be—though the sound of tearing seams was good. Really good.  


Ignoring the window and the fact that half of London could see them here, Richard meant to take everything. "Bed?" he panted.  
"Kiss me again," Aidan begged, reaching up a hand to curl in Richard's hair, "just like before, please." His voice was hoarse with relief and _want._  


The bed forgotten, the man pressed up against him complied. It was surprising how good it was. Richard hadn't gotten down to sex in a long while, but he refused to believe that was all there was between them. "Like this?" he breathed hotly, and shoved him against the wall up as their lips touched—Aidan's chapped against his own; slightly tense, though growing weaker—then gave way for tongue.  


Richard however soon forgot about carefulness when his system threatened to overload on this man. His hands started to roam. First, they skimmed Aidan’s sides once over. Then, a hand tangled through hair and pulled him away from the wall.  


Aidan, for the first time since being brought to Richard's loft, felt tension leaving his muscles in the wake of Richard's huge, hot hands moving with surety over his body. He was lost in the feeling and surprised when Richard began pulling him towards the bedroom.  


"You had better not be sending me mixed messages this time," Richard spoke against his jaw.  


The comment was unloaded. He simply did not want for this to backfire on him in the morning; Richard was no good at understanding these kinds of messages after too long out of the loop—except sharing _that_ particular bit of knowledge with Aidan would be for another time. To underline his intent, he shrugged out of his own vest and let it crumple on the floor. He nearly slipped on the remote, then, and floundered.  


Aidan reached out with both arms to grasp his waist and steady him, lest he fall. "No mixed messages, Richard," Aidan whispered, ear still tingling from Richard's deep baritone voice. "I want you," he began delivering small nips and kisses to the underside of Richard's jaw and down his neck. "I want you more than I've ever wanted anything or anyone." 

He kicked Richard's vest, and the remote out of Richard's way.

To the other, the words almost sounded too good to be true—like Aidan was trying too hard. Like they were quoted from a romantic comedy. Though for now, Richard could ignore them marvelously well. Frustration was seeping out of him with every touch given. Instead came arousal, hard and unbidden, and full of need.  


They didn't make it to the bed. Halfway there, he tugged Aidan back onto the couch in between scattered pages and on top of him.  


And god, how had Richard not noticed how utterly delectable this man looked, turned on?  


For a few brief moments, all Aidan could do was gaze down at Richard. Then, decisively, he reached out, and with his slim fingers plucked Richard's glasses from his face, folded them carefully and lay them on the coffee table. While reaching, he also switched off the table lamp, turning off the spotlight shining on them. He didn't want to share this moment with anyone else.

The buttery leather sofa was soft to the touch, but Richard's silk shirt was softer, as Aidan discovered as he unbuttoned it slowly, following each discovery of flesh with a lick or nibble to the uncovered skin. Richard, it appeared, liked to wax. His chest was chiseled and completely hairless. Aidan paid extra attention to each nipple, teasing the nubs to hardness with his lips and tongue. Moving to Richard's taut abs, he was compelled to run his fingertips over their perfection. Clearly, Richard took excellent care of himself. Aidan suddenly felt very self-conscious about his own hairy, less toned physique.

"You're the strangest prisoner I've ever had," Richard breathed out as he let his head fall back, not at all trying to catch the silhouette of Aidan with the lights out and his glasses off. In the blurry darkness he preferred to give in to his other senses. He regretted saying the words as soon as he did however, because the last thing he wanted to be reminded of right now was their uncomfortable relation. Richard only wanted to unwind.  


Wanted _him_.  


To gloss it over, he shifted until he lay prone on the couch and pulled Aidan off balance—right on top of him. It put him in a slightly too vulnerable position, so a second later the younger found himself underneath Richard once again. Without speaking, Aidan's hands were moved above his head. The collar's pinpoint activity LED blinked and reflected between them when Richard leaned down. One hand held two wrists loosely pinned above Aidan's head—he could escape easily, should he want to—while the other grazed teasingly around his navel.  


Richard was aiming for a response.  


Aidan wriggled his wrists briefly and minutely, just to see how much give Richard’s giant hand was offering. There was very little. Aidan liked that, and he had a feeling Richard liked that he liked that—if the lusty look in his eyes was any indication. 

The hand splayed on his stomach made idle circles in the dark hair that trailed down to his privates. He was hard, and knew Richard had to feel it, even through their respective trousers. He raised his hips higher to brush purposefully against the older man’s. “Do you want to touch me, Richard?” he asked. “Touch my cock for the first time?”  


"I'm going to," he replied in a manner that simultaneously communicated how very beyond them now it was to stop. Richard ground his hips down easily. He longed to dominate this man under him—even if it seemed like they headed towards the most consensual way of going about that yet. And though it had been long since he'd been with another man, he was no blushing virgin. Though Aidan might act like one, by the time Richard would be done with him, Aidan wouldn’t know what had hit him.

The slacks provided him enough leeway to rub him through the fabric and not have the touch lessened in intensity. Under his hand, Aidan was already hard. What he felt pleased him. "More?" he mused. Richard never gave him a chance to reply. He took him into an all-consuming kiss, nipped at his lips, and bit down on his tongue. Because he could, and he wanted to. It wasn't a vicious bite, anyway—the mark he was currently leaving on Aidan's neck, as his hips rolled forward in a steady rhythm, pressing his hand flush against the fabric, that mark would certainly be sharper.

He wondered if Aidan was a dirty talk kind of guy.

“Unf, yes, more,” Aidan breathed, head thrown back and long neck exposed to whatever Richard wanted to dish out. “Fucking love having my neck kissed,” he told his former boss. The idea of Richard laving the area around the shock collar turned him on to no end. “Dreamed of you on top of me for _so_ long, Richard. Want you; want every inch of you.” He spread his legs ever-so-slightly to indicate exactly where he wanted those inches.

While Richard was having serious thoughts about Aidan being nymphomaniac—he didn't know the man, but it all fell from his lips a little too easily—he couldn't really care. He wasn't a talkative guy himself, and yet he was the one on top. Aidan could talk all he wanted; that wasn't going to change. When a nice bruise was beginning to take shape, he unlatched and silently smiled down at him, not moving in on the invitation. The promise was obviously there.  


"What else do you like?"  


So he could take special note of it and use it against him. Sparingly. Ever so sparingly.  


Aidan’s eyes rose questioningly to Richard. “Your hands,” he finally breathed. “Your huge, powerful hands. So strong, so elegant. The things you do with them,” he writhed against the hand fondling his cock. “The things I want you to do with them…”  


"Tell me, then."  


Richard pulled his hands away as if to have Aidan guide him. Like one of his apparently many fantasies, and Richard was willing to cooperate.  


To an extent.  


“Start with my face and hair,” Aidan suggested, when he realized was going to follow his directions. “Cup my face with one hand and touch my hair with the other. Kiss me,” the last two words came out much more desperate and breathless than he’d intended, but there was no retracting them. “Kiss me like you could die tomorrow and never kiss another again,” he looked solemnly up at Richard, and in that moment Richard made the connection that Aidan knew his life was forfeit.

Richard responded like he was made for this purpose alone, like everything happening prior to this night in his life had been leading up to it. This was his purpose. Something sad settled in his stomach at the realization. It was like tonight was all they would have, before it ended. After one taste of it, nothing else would ever be anything more than bland at best. It was a strange notion, but one that Aidan's words couldn't help but strengthen. He didn't want Aidan to feel this way—it was a misconceived thought sprung from both Richard's cruelty and the physical necessity to own this man under him.

But he never denied it, like perhaps he ought to. Instead lips touched pleading ones and his hands did as they were told. In the apartment lit only by the lights of London, in the corner where all was darkest, he kissed Aidan and let fingers whisper against his cheek. Richard had envisioned giving Aidan the reins to end up in fast sex, full of passion and quite likely with Richard dominating him and making him scream for more; like the bane for any neighbor that he expected Aidan to be—even though his apartment was properly isolated. Instead, every touch was coveted and committed to memory.

Instead, these were the exchanges of lovers.

Tears came unbidden to Aidan's eyes at Richard's sudden tenderness. Their tongues danced together leisurely and without a battle. His jaw fit perfectly into the cup of Richard's palm, as if it had been molded specifically for that purpose. Aidan turned his face from the slow torture of Richard's kiss and lay his lips against said palm.

Then, dazed, he looked up into Richard’s blue eyes. "Who are you?" he asked. "And what have you done with Richard Armitage?"

Richard could only conclude that despite indulging Aidan, just this once, it wasn't to his satisfaction. For a split second, thoughts and emotions warred inside of him, but this was no moment to be angry at the many polar shifts of Aidan Turner—his captive and captor. "I'm still here," he brushed his thumb against the other's upper lip, "Is it not to your liking?" A small smile came unbidden. "You expected me differently, didn't you? I can say the same for you, myself." Without the fistfuls of clothing and skin hotly pressing up against each other; without hot nothings and frantic grasps, it was nothing like how Richard had expected it to be. Rather, Richard had fully expected Aidan to tell him the spots he liked to be touched or tasted, or ask him to touch him. They kissed again.

"You can change that," he offered. Though Richard quite liked an awestruck Aidan who didn't make his blood boil. He didn't move his hands all the way down between their bodies to fix the position. Instead, he had them brush over exposed skin to simultaneously tickle him and turn him on further.

Richard was fond of the kind of sex in which everything in its wake ended destroyed. But he could still destroy, taking things painstakingly slow with just the right amount of well-directed touch.

However, he really wasn't supposed to do this with someone who was contained in his panic room for good reasons.

"Truly, Richard I didn't expect anything." Aidan told him. "I am still laying here in awe of having you on top of me and not trying to kill me," he confessed. "Your tenderness, I will admit, surprised me. But let me be perfectly clear. There is very little that you could do to me in bed that would disappoint me."

Aidan ran his right hand down Richard’s flank and squeezed his ass.

Richard breathed out. "Permission to do as I please, then." Since this, as good as he tried to follow Aidan's requests, it wasn't what came naturally to him. "These are the things you want, remember?" Another kiss, and Richard gauged the response he received when his hips ground down against Aidan's.

His fingers traced the warming metal against Aidan's hot skin. "Just so we're clear … you're not going to hold this against me, are you?"

It was his way of asking for consent, even though he already had it. He just, well, he would really like them to agree on it.

"I want it all," Aidan told him. "Everything you want to do to me and more. Please don't hold back." he encouraged. Aidan was blushing, but in the dim light of the loft, Richard’s only indicator was the increased heat rising from Aidan’s skin. "Use me,” he insisted. “Let it out Richard.”

His words would have incited a storm in Richard normally—they were exactly like the ones Aidan had equipped himself with over the last few days—but that was before that quickly hidden display of sensitivity, just there, the one that made it clear he believed his life to be forfeit. Richard was not inhuman. He wasn't going to use Aidan the way he used him before. So, quietly, he pushed off from the couch, placing one hand next to Aidan's curls for support and leisurely let the other slip out of his trousers.

Stretching his legs, he looked down at his hands as they undid everything still on him, all except for his boxers. Even the socks came off properly without him stumbling like he used to do when he wasn't seated somewhere. "Don't move."

Aidan was left alone on the couch for too little time to start worrying. Richard put something on the floor next to the couch. When Aidan threatened to have his curiosity get the better of him, he shook his head. "Look at me, Turner."

Richard crept back onto the couch and tugged loose a drawstring. In less than seconds, the fabric was halfway down Aidan's cock—intentionally no further—while Richard used the flat of his tongue to push the head flush against the other's abdomen.

Aidan let out a long pleasured moan at the intimate and unexpected contact from Richard’s tongue. Reflexively, his left hand crept down to curl in Richard’s cropped dark hair. "Don't stop," he begged. "Please keep going."

Determined to be as slow as he could be about it, Richard did nothing to increase the pace. A few times he pulled away and only let his breath skim hot flesh. Whenever he moved, it was only the tip of his tongue, and never below the part still clothed. He rearranged himself shortly when his knee started to ache.

And then Richard decided to quit altogether. He pressed hot kisses against the hollow of his stomach as Aidan sucked in breath. His collarbone occasionally brushed against his cock. That was it. Through the fabric, his hand started tracing along the contours of Aidan’s balls. The faint scrape against rough linen would make it all the harder to get proper satisfaction from it.

He wasn't going to return until Aidan begged for it.

“Richard, did I do something wrong?” Aidan wondered. He was afraid to anger Richard, but he raised a hand to the man’s shoulder and urged him downward. “I need you, Richard. Please… please,” he stopped just short of whining. “Am I not attractive enough? It's the body hair isn't it? I'm too hairy, aren't I?" he looked crestfallen.

Richard raised himself to look up at him.

"What are you _talking_ about?" And that, well, that ought to tell him enough. Richard had no problem with the body hair. It was a bit odd how Aidan seemed to have qualms about it.

To stress his point, he crept further up and, instead of offering Aidan a kiss on the lips, he started dotting them along the tufts of chest hair, further and further down where it thinned and then fanned out again thickly. Another kiss to his stomach. Then Richard took him inside him mouth wholly.

“It's just that _you're_ so smooth, and, and... _unf!_ " Aidan's thoughts were cut off as Richard’s hot mouth engulfed his dick. His hips rolled with the pleasure of each of Richard’s licks and ministrations. The pressure building in his loins could not be denied or stopped. “Richard,” he breathed “Richard, pull off... I'm going to come!”

As soon as he said it, Richard did pull off. Sliding his hand down to the base of Aidan’s cock, he ceased all stimulation and kept pressure there until the rise abated. He knew it was bordering on cruelty to do this to Aidan now, when he wanted it so bad. And it was hard. The man was so close that any touch could herald his orgasm. It took him patience and care, but Richard managed. "No, you're not," he shook his head. "I'm not yet done with you."

While the hand impeded any motion, he reached down for the floor, uncapped a small bottle with his teeth, and spat the oily cap at the pristine carpet like it was no trouble cleaning up. A bit more maneuvering brought Aidan's hips up on his lap. By now he was no longer willing to get off the couch to remove further clothing, so Richard improvised. He tugged the baggy slacks down as far as he could—which could only be done by having both of Aidan's legs on one side—and circled a lathered finger from his balls across his perineum until it sank inside.

"Christ, Aidan," Richard breathed out, "You're hot."

“You made me this way,” Aidan told him, writhing minutely and willing Richard to go deeper, harder. “Are you going to fuck me Richard?” he asked breathlessly. “Because I desperately want you to.”

With the preparations now appearing redundant, Richard angled his finger just so to roughly press against Aidan's prostate in a manner of punishment for his impatience. "Soon," he mused. He wasn't going to take much longer now, but, like his remote control, he enjoyed toying with Aidan's buttons. A second finger joined the first and slowly, he extracted both until the tips alone lingered. Those, he alternated rubbing against the muscle. Richard liked this game.

Aidan whined in frustration before he could help himself. Ashamed, he clasped a guilty hand over his own mouth. “Oh god, I'm sorry,” he mumbled... just want it so much... want _you_ so much.”

If Richard took any longer playing with his prey, he really wouldn't be able to stop Aidan from coming a second time. One glance at the state of him made him decide it was time. With difficulty, he shoved his boxers down to his knees, and then just past them. That was all he needed. Richard leaned forward on the couch, until his cock—hard, throbbing and painfully unattended to—aligned. Then, with all gentleness forgotten, he shoved himself inside Aidan in one sharp thrust.

It was embarrassing how Richard now needed a time to adjust. The sensory overload made him want to go deep, but he just wouldn't last a minute. "Hang on." To make up for it, he trapped Aidan's legs between their bodies, twisted as they lay, and caught his lips.

“Ah, Christ!” Aidan cried out in pain laced with pleasure. The weight of Richard’s hips against his and the constriction of his own pants around his knees was a real turn-on. In the dim light, Richard’s face had a look of half panic, half euphoria that Aidan decided he liked. Wiggling his hips around Richard’s girth, he silently encouraged his former employer to thrust, and soon.

The sound made Richard momentarily wince. He should have given Aidan more time with two fingers. But, too late now, he simply stilled until the muscles relaxed around him. Then, again as slowly as he could, he started moving. The friction around him was blissful. God, he hadn't done this for so long.

Once or twice his hips stuttered, eager as they were for more. Then he succumbed. Richard's hips jerked forward, and he groaned. Things became a blur, the more he craved for it. Heat flared in his chest and his loins, and soon Richard's hands were roaming the younger body. "Come first," he asked. He needed that glorious sensation, and before he was sated.

Aidan reached for his own cock and begin rubbing it firmly but gently in time with Richard’s angled thrusts. He was so on edge that it only took four such practiced pulls before he was spurting pearly white cum all over his hand and Richard’s chest. 

“Now you, Richard. Come for me,” Aidan begged hoarsely.

When Aidan fell, lost in his orgasm, Richard kissed him hard. He gasped at the feeling of the man constricting around him. "Yes," came a hiss, "God, yes!" The tight heat around him was unbearable. Instead of going slow, he only thrust in harder. In a moment of clarity, Richard aimed properly and hit his spot once again, simply because he wondered how incredibly hot Aidan would look, stimulated like that while so overly sensitive.

But that spark of rationality soon too disappeared in the ocean of primal need that took over. Four times was all he managed. Then his movements became rough and potentially painful for Aidan, while he needed more, and more, and _yes, so close, fuck, a little, a little... there!_ He couldn't tell whether he had just thought that, or cried it out.

In violent jerks he gasped out and tightened his grip on Aidan's hips until they bruised. When the tension in his bones finally left Richard, he lazily started placing nips everywhere.

Aidan was a boneless pliant mess beneath Richard’s warm lips. “Ungh,” he sighed head lolling. “That was incredible, Mr. Armitage.” 

" _Richard_ ," Richard muttered against salty skin.

God, he didn't even know how to treat him. Faintly he recalled he was supposed to be angry at Aidan. With Richard's cum inside him, and his own sticking against both their skin right now, he thought the rules no longer applied. A breathless laugh escaped him. "How are you? Are you all right?"

He absently noticed how the bottle of oil had fallen and a nice yellowish stain was beginning to spread out on the carpet. Oh well. He needed something new, anyway.

“That was wonderful, Richard,” Aidan told him, dark eyes wide in the dark. “It was nothing like I expected, but everything I wanted. I’m pretty sure I’m going to want more, though,” he confessed.

Richard nodded. He nipped Aidan's mouth one last time, like they hadn't just done something that had to be the equivalent of a one night stand in captivity—God, he hoped Aidan didn't compare it with prison sex, because that would actually hurt him—and pulled off. Aidan didn't have to return to the room at once. Naked and not quite caring, he sauntered over to the bathroom, cleaned himself up, and returned with a washcloth.

"There you go."

If Aidan thought Richard was looking at him weirdly, well, he was. At last the question burned on his tongue too hotly to swallow it back. "So when I said you were forward, you mean to say," awkwardly he sat on the armrest and looked down at the spent man on his couch. He was the cause of that. On top of that, for once Aidan didn't make his blood boil, and he found he liked it. Liked it more than a jailer liked obedience. "You're not this forward with everyone?"

“It’s been awhile since I have been with anyone,” Aidan confessed, “so I'm a little out of practice. Truth is, if I had known there was ever even the slightest possibility that _this,_ ” he waved one hand back and forth between them to signify what had just happened, “was going to happen, I would have been better prepared.”

"Truly?" 

Richard saw no lies in Aidan's eyes, and that confused him. "You've been advertising to me. A lot. I mean, I thought you were messing with me because it was so... forward. You're really haven't done this in a while?" Certainly, he more than liked it. But it brought back the implication of what they'd done. They had fucked. And Aidan apparently wasn't as loose as Richard had taken him to be. 

For now, he could live without the confirmation. "I'm going to bed." A look at the clock showed him it was nearing three in the morning already. Sleep might have eluded him before; it came crashing back down. "Do you..." well, asking this was embarrassing. No worse than tucking him back into his cell without asking. "I'm okay with you sleeping in the bed, if you don't want to return to your own bed, as long as you agree to have one hand tied." 

Then he remembered something. Richard smiled to himself. He leaned in and whispered in Aidan's ear, "Your life's not forfeit, you know." 

Richard reminding him that he was his prisoner brought Aidan down from his high quickly. “I think you'll sleep better if I’m in the panic room,” Aidan told him, “and you look like you need some sleep,” he said, wiping himself down with the cloth Richard had offered. “In answer to the question that you are obviously thinking, I have only ever been with two other people. One was my first time—a one night stand in college. The other was a committed relationship. A much longer one.” 

Just like that, they were captor and captive again. “I've always been more socially adept around computers than people,” he said apologetically, rising to head to the safe room. 

He wasn't stopped as his feet created a larger and larger distance between them. Richard looked after him. When the door shut, he wanted to say something. Anything. He never did; he waited a long time, before padding over and reinstating the lock. 

Somehow, he had the feeling that there was more significance in what they just did than what he planned for. He wasn't sure whether he liked that. It could… complicate things. 

But he certainly kept staring at the camera inside the room for a tad too long. 


	6. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan gets a taste of freedom. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aidan Turner and Dean O'Gorman written by ThornyHedge
> 
> Richard Armitage and James Nesbitt written by BlueMonkey

Dean’s dreams were troubled and filled with fear and pain. The vibration of his cell phone awakened him, and for that he was grateful. James’ arm was a possessive iron band around his waist. He lifted it distastefully away and reached for his cell phone. On the screen were the two words he's been waiting to see for the past 48 hours.... _Transfer Complete._

He got up from the bed and went to the living room. There, he logged onto his personal private off-shore bank account. The balance read one million pounds. 

He should have woken James to celebrate, but instead he found himself wishing he were celebrating with someone else. The money was a wonderful thing, but now he was going to start a new life on the run, with a brand new identity.

More than ever, his heart ached for Aidan.

James woke when the warmth he had been anchored to seeped away and left a chill in its wake. He tried to blindly shuffle back to the source of warmth, believing Dean to have rolled over in the bed, but no one was there. He was too lazy to care for a moment. Then he cracked an eye open at the hour and thought that this, Dean not being in his own bed at four in the morning, was not normal.

Sleep-tousled, he walked out to the living room and quietly approached the figure in front of the laptop. Warm hands rubbed Dean's neck.

"Is that what I hope it is?"

Dean pulled away from James distastefully, but he hoped it appeared to be in surprise. 

“Sorry,” he said apologetically, “You scared me. Yes my money’s been transferred, which means yours is too James. We did it, we fucking did it,” he smiled. “Do you still have all your new fake paperwork? We're going to need it sooner rather than later.”

What Dean didn't tell James was that he’d also had a new identity created for Aidan.

"Absolutely, love," James grinned as he rubbed Dean's shoulders. "Ready to get the hell out of this dreary place I am." _Ready to be starting this new life alongside one of the best fucks in his life._ "One million each. I can't believe it." Though he was still processing things sluggishly, sleepy because of the late hour, he was beginning to feel elation seep into him. "That bastard Armitage had it coming. I mean, I feel a bit bad for Aidan, but hey. Hacked him on his own initiative, didn't he? We're not responsible for his bad choices."

James wasn't an affectionate lover, but he couldn't help but nip at Dean's ear and whisper in his best grouchy voice, "How about we properly celebrate?”

Fucking James was the last thing Dean wanted to do at that moment. Although he’d never been a dreamer like Aidan, he was already concocting a plan to extricate Aidan from Richard’s loft. He could imagine the warm smile spreading across the brunet’s face when he heard about their successful hack. They would never have to worry about money again, and could simply enjoy one another’s company instead of bickering all the time.

Suddenly he felt a rush of blood to his groin, so he turned to James. “Sure. Why not?”

"Come on, you'll be getting and enthusiastic blowjob from the nouveau riche." As he walked back to the bed, James suggestively raised an eyebrow. "Unless there's something else on your mind. I'm feeling generous tonight."

\--------

Aidan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t help but think he was missing something important regarding the data. In his mind he played the night of the conversation with Adam over and over. He was still of the opinion that, even if Adam wanted to pull off something so elaborate, he simply didn't have the skills. 

However there was one wild card he was concerned about... James Nesbitt. It was very possible James had overheard he and Adam talking from the kitchen. Aidan couldn't remember if he ever gave Adam a specific date or time that he was planning to plant the worm. The only place he had actually recorded what he was doing was on his...

 _and then it all became clear._ Aidan had a secret online blog where he anonymously kept a diary of what he was planning to do, and how. But James didn't know that he was the creator of the blog. Only two people did...Dean and Adam.

He fell asleep pondering whether or not Dean knew anything about hacking and just wasn’t telling him.

\--------

The morning was strenuous on Richard at best. While he went to bed quite late, and woke feeling like a bruised man, he still couldn't sleep past six in the morning. Years of habit had ingrained that time into his system. So, exhausted, he got out of bed and made coffee. All the while, his eyes drifted to the panic room’s entrance. It looked like a regular door for guests coming over—not prison in which he kept a man whom he didn't know how to value at this point. 

Nonetheless, it was clear that most of his pent-up frustration towards Aidan had started growing weaker since they had slept together—if you could call it sleeping together. But those were formalities, and he wasn't yet ready to work with the implications. So it took him more than half an hour of treating the door like a pathway into hell that'd suck him in as soon as he unlocked it, before he told himself that this was getting ridiculous and unlocked the hydraulic lock.

The omelet and bacon he was preparing was meager for a breakfast. He didn't know what else to make, his cooking palette being rather limited to just a few dishes—one for breakfast, and several quick and easy dinners. And he made it. He didn't order. It was the gesture that counted.

Aidan actually groaned when the door opened and he realized it was still very early in the morning. He coveted sleep and desperately wanted more. Then, the smell of bacon and eggs wafted into the room. He'd had very little to eat in the past 24 hours and his stomach made its presence known. It was the promise of food that drove him to the washroom for a cursory clean up. Wearing the beige robe he’d come to enjoy, he padded out through Richard’s empty bedroom into the living area.

The sight of Richard standing at a stove flipping over an omelet brought a curl of warmth into his stomach. The gestures were so downright domestic, that he had to smile.

Thankfully Richard was unaware of that thought, or he would have stopped instantly and ordered in—like he used to do, when he didn't grab a sandwich on the way to work. "Morning," he nodded. Richard suppressed the smile that almost came with it, because that would perhaps be too much. "Sorry about the hour. I have to go not long from now, and I know you're used to getting your breakfast later. You don't have to eat with me. But if you want some?"

Aidan didn't want to remind Richard that the only thing he eaten the day before was a hamburger, so he just responded with, “Yes please. I’d like to eat, if that’s all right. Can I help you with anything?” he wondered.

"I'm fine." Richard didn't want to tell him that he could grab some plates, or pass him the salt; it wasn't Aidan's kitchen, nor was he a guest or supposed to get acquainted with the place. It was too early for that. "How'd you like your egg?"

He cringed when he realized that what he'd just said was, in fact, a tacky pick-up line. For women. "I'm sorry," he groaned, "It's early, though that's no excuse. How would you like your egg, though?" He went for sunny side up himself, and put another frying pan on the fire for Aidan's portion.

Was he supposed to inform anyone he hadn't done this in a long time and the chance of turning everything into a charred mash was real? At least, by talking about breakfast, he managed to avoid the other elephant in the room.

“Anyway you like,” Aidan told him. “I’m not particular, Richard.”

Just like that, thoughts and images of terrible, _terrible_ things invaded his mind at the unfortunate choice of words.

Eggs were not sexy. They were not.

"Scrambled, then?" he covered up his unease over considering how Aidan would look hauled up on one of the kitchen cabinets whilst wearing a smile and nothing else. The sight of the collar pulled him back into the present. "They're not too hard to make; can't mess up there, right?"

Aidan watched emotions play over Richard’s face... concentration turned to lust, which turned into something akin to fear as he waited for Aidan’s reply.

“Scrambled would be perfect, Richard,” he told the older man with a smile. He wondered what Richard had been thinking about when his pupils had grown wide

Ten minutes later, Richard had him a plate of scrambled eggs and fried bacon, and himself a few slices of bread with his already cooling omelette. They sat at the kitchen table in silence. Richard would take in how he looked from time to time, but otherwise he didn't really know what to say.

He made do with awkward conversational topics like work and what Aidan would be doing today—which was the stupidest of all—and in the end he sighed and hung his head low.

"Look at us. Here we are; the typical one night stand, except you won't go home after breakfast. We should really start on getting you home, don't you think? You want to call Adam later, when I'm back? I'll make the arrangements if you think you are up for it." He took a bite. "We should really not waste too much more time. By now, men with two million pounds will be on the Cayman Islands or wherever else. As soon as they're caught, or I know who they are and you're absolved, you'll be free to go."

Even though he tried to hide it, brief sadness flickered over Aidan’s face at the prospect of leaving. 

“I had a revelation last night,” he told Richard, instead of saying what was really on his mind. He told Richard about his blog and suggested that Richard have his trusted security people investigate who had been visiting the blog. It might lead them to the culprit. 

It sounded like great news to the other's ears. Aidan seemed to finally be trusting him with more information. Admitted, he could have said these things days ago and saved himself a lot of trouble. That didn't matter though; he’d said it now.

And well, Richard thought that instead of simply checking traffic, he might ask someone to get into the underlying database, as he wondered what else Aidan would be talking about. "I'll have my people check it out. Thank you. It's a locked blog though, isn't it? Please tell me you didn't share your plans with a number of strangers." If that were the case, the list of suspects would become too large. But he couldn't believe it. Aidan wasn't that stupid.

Aidan didn't seem too excited about him being able to leave. He chose not to comment on that. "You want Dean to investigate it, or someone else? I don't know what you wrote about, but, well." It could be personal.

“My blog is anonymous, and it’s not about my love life,” Aidan assured him. “It’s about hacking and security. I never mentioned anything about where I work or for whom. Only two people who know me also know about the blog... that I know of. One of them is Dean. He may not be the most objective person to investigate this.” Richard saw a far away, slightly worried look come to Aidan’s face.

“If you’ve confiscated my computer, you already have everything. I can give you the address and you can read it. Any readers of the blog should be in the memory, including who accessed it and where from.”

Richard nodded. "I'll have someone else examine it. We might just have you out of here sooner than expected." He smiled to underline that, though he felt slightly conflicted about letting this man go. Aside from the regular concerns like having him tailed in case he'd go to the police or anything else that could turn Aidan into a dangerous opponent, there was that part that wasn't based on logic and genuinely wanted Aidan to like him. Well. Before he first forced him through two blowjobs and then had sex with him and made just liking him rather impossible—now, it was either hate or the _other_.

Then it occurred to him that if Dean was one of the two people...

"Listen," he winced, "I know you two were together, but are you absolutely certain it's not Dean either?"

“I can tell you with certainty that Dean is no hacker. He needed my help with some pretty basic stuff sometimes,” he smiled fondly at the memory. “He would have to have partnered with someone very talented. I mean he's your head of security; he can go places and do things that other people can't. But that is no substitute for skill. The hacker used the in that I created to take advantage of Armitage. I don't know many people who could do that.”

Less concerned, Richard nodded and finished his omelet. He pushed the plate forward, looked at the clock, and gave Aidan time to finish his own meal while making it very clear that he needed to go soon. "I'll keep that in mind. He seems like a kind fellow, not the person who would do something like this, you're right." There were lots of questions about Dean Richard wanted to ask Aidan; none were his business. So he kept his mouth shut. 

Except, "Were you two serious?" just slipped out.

Aidan’s response was one word long. “Yes.”

He didn't elaborate just pushed a few crumbs of egg around with his fork.

The taste of a good breakfast turned stale in Richard's mouth.

"What happened?"

Dean wouldn't tell him. Not right away.

Finally, Aidan sighed. “I messed up. Told him things that upset him. I broke his heart,” he said sadly. “Shouldn't you be getting going?”

"Right." And Richard wasn't oblivious, but he chose to ignore Aidan's clear response nonetheless—though he wondered how Aidan could look so sad about it, if he implied it was his doing. "It's not my business, sorry. Will you return to your room now? I'll put my best people to work. Who knows, maybe tonight I can tell you you're free to go. Wouldn't that be something?"

The truth was, Richard felt at a loss. He didn't think he'd ever done a poorer job with a prisoner. It wouldn't be long now before Aidan started calling the shots; he was giving him too much leeway and interrogation, well, that seemed to be rather non-existent between them. Everything he knew, he knew because Aidan had a soft heart and a loose mouth and felt like sharing. He got up and packed the necessities in his suitcase. Because he felt the need to reestablish between them that he was calling the shots, he made sure Aidan saw the gun. But Richard took little satisfaction from it.

The sight of the gun made Aidan feel like he might lose his breakfast. Despite Richard assuring him that he was safe now, be still didn't believe it. 

He had a burning desire to talk to Dean, soon, to make sure his former love didn't do anything stupid, because he was certain there was no way Dean could be involved in this.

At least he hoped so.

\--------

True to his word, Richard didn't speak to Dean about the blog that day. He dropped by the office once to report, which they handled in an uncommonly professional and impersonal manner. The moment he left, Richard reopened the video connection to one of his finest investigators for hire. 

Around two in the afternoon, they had two addresses.

Around three, he left for home with a broad grin on his features. 

\--------

Aidan sat in the armchair by the giant plate glass window, reading the second to last chapter of _The Hobbit._ After awhile the words started to blur together as he couldn't stop thinking about Richard. 

He’d really screwed up. In helping with the investigation, he may have bought his freedom, but what was out there for him? Richard’s actions at breakfast made it perfectly clear that what had happened between them had been a capricious one night stand. Aidan’s lack of social skills had pretty much fucked up the rest. 

Thinking about how he'd lain on Richard’s bed blindfolded, masturbating and telling Richard his fantasies made him cringe with shame. Just as telling those same fantasies to Dean had cost him a solid relationship. 

He had no job, all his possessions had been ransacked and probably confiscated. When—and if—Richard finally released him, he literally had nowhere to go and no one to go with.

When the vault opened, Richard walked in rather than waiting for him to come out. It was three thirty in the afternoon and far too early for him to be home, but he was in undoubtedly good spirits. With his hands still in the pockets of his black wool coat, and looking far more immaculate than he ever did at home, his eyes sought out Aidan.

"We’ve got two suspects detained as we speak."

Richard let that sink in for a moment, while he enjoyed the sight of Aidan caught off guard and looking slightly disheveled without the chance to freshen up, before he continued. "I haven't seen them yet. I don't know who they are, but you might be happy to know O'Gorman is not one of them. Would you like to come down to see if you recognize one of them? We're looking through bank records right now, and I'll have to be in around six for the questioning. Your opinion would really make a difference."

It wouldn't be a bloody affair like last time's questioning would be, he was certain of that. Richard hated getting his hands dirty. But he felt optimistic, this time around.

As relieved as Aidan was to hear Richard had some suspects, his guts twisted thinking about what fate might befall them. He was so glad to hear Dean hadn't turned out to be suspected.

 _Oh god! Was one of them Adam?_ He didn't think he could be present to see his friend hurt. Yet the prospect of getting out of the loft for some fresh air held great appeal.

“Yes, Richard, of course I'll go with you,” he said, “anything I can do to bring this to an end.”

The smile he gave, his hands staying in his pockets quite comfortably, was enough of a response to express his relief. "Come on then, get yourself freshened up. If all goes well, I'll buy us both some proper food tonight." By which Richard implied that they celebrate in a restaurant or something of the like. He didn't realize until the words were out of his mouth that that sounded not like how he'd planned it. "Not, I mean, as a date or something," he quickly added.

Seeing Aidan dressed up and taking him out to a restaurant sounded appealing however, so when Richard added the disclaimer, he wasn't entirely speaking the whole truth either. Getting out of this pit of using the wrong words, he said, "I'll wait outside the room for you."

Ten minutes later, Aidan had showered and put on some of the clothing Richard's men had brought with them from his apartment. Among the clothing was a mostly non-wrinkled grey suit jacket that he paired with some jeans and a white oxford.

Accompanied outside by a collar and two silent men in suits, the silver sedan was parked up front as soon as they got outside. Richard chose not to think too much about this being Aidan's first time outside the apartment for days. At least the weather wasn't your dreary London rain, but comfortably sunny. He made way for Aidan to get in the back first, and then followed.

After a thirty-minute ride to the outskirts of the city, they pulled up near a nondescript riverside warehouse. The place looked it was still in business; lights burned inside and a soap brand neon sign burned faintly above the entrance. Otherwise however, it was surrounded by derelict buildings. Richard never talked. He didn't know what to talk about; he didn't want to keep repeating himself by stressing how Aidan might be free soon.

"Turner," he said when Aidan got distracted—slightly too formal to keep up appearances in front of his men—and gestured for him to enter.

They passed several corridors until, three floors up, they entered a small room. A large window separated it from two properly lit ones on adjacent sides. There, two men were sat. Richard gauged Aidan's response hopefully.

Aidan so desperately wanted to be able to help Richard. He also desperately wanted neither of those men to be Adam, James or Dean. None of them were, thank God.

"I know these guys, of course," Aidan told him. "They work in the IT department at Armitage. One of them, Chet Smalls, is fairly new to the company. Why were they brought in? Why do you suspect them? Is it okay for me to ask that?" 

"They appeared on your blog activity," a bookish man in the corner of the room near a monitor said when Richard turned to him. "Smalls has been on several pages multiple times. His visits are recurring and specific to several posts, which implies he's seen something that could possibly have interested him. Jameson has logged in several times to check up on frequent updates, though he hasn't as much shown interest in posts in particular. Nevertheless, he returns on average three times a week. 

"Mr. Armitage mentioned it to me that Dean could have visited your blog as well, so I've taken his results into consideration. Though his visits have decreased drastically a few weeks ago. I've been informed this is due to personal reasons between you and Mr. O'Gorman?"

"Yes," Aidan answered without hesitation. "Dean and I were involved romantically for some time, which I'm sure is common knowledge to many Armitage employees. He read my blog just to make me happy, I'm sure. Computers aren't really his thing. I'm sure he's thrilled to no longer feel pressured to read it." Aidan tried to be flippant, but his voice was shaking.

"Neither Smalls or Jameson actually knows I'm the blog's author," Aidan continued. "As both of them are no doubt trying to get ahead at Armitage, I imagine their interest to be professional. I like to keep current on what's going on in the field of coding, and my posts can be very cutting edge and informative. I've had a couple offers to become a full-time writer at several different publications," he confessed. "But I really like my job. Really _liked_ my job," he corrected sadly. "I suppose when this is all over, if I'm lucky enough to be alive, I'll have to accept one of their offers."

"Yes, well," the man hesitated, "The thing is, they had access to private posts as well. There have been several server requests for encrypted images on top of that. We haven't been able to look at them yet, so if you would be so kind, we'd really like to see what they've been seeing. Unfortunately we've not had enough time to get past your firewall and access them directly. Would you like to have a look at the requests and explain to us what they've seen?"

Aidan nodded his permission and gave his passwords.

They were personal images. As soon as the first timestamp-encoded urls flashed across the screen, rooted in a private folder, Richard clenched his jaw when a few minutes later showed Aidan and Dean in what should have been a sweet picture—except for Richard it was not. They looked happy.

"Smalls saw this picture several times, and downloaded it once," the man in the corner narrated a single shot of Aidan, sleep-tousled and oddly attractive like that.

Aidan was surprised at how violated he felt having his photos and private posts pored over like this. He wasn't ashamed of anything he'd written or had saved on his hard drive—there was no porn or naked photos of himself or Dean, thank God—but it still felt as if someone were stirring his guts with a giant spoon.

He cleared his throat. "Well, there's no reason for Smalls to have wanted that picture unless he fancied me, is there?" he posited. "I mean, it's a candid photograph. Nothing to write home about otherwise. D-do we really have to go through these photos one at a time?" He was very uncomfortable doing this in front of Richard.

The man turned to Richard for an answer. Richard nodded. "Those that Smalls and Jameson have accessed, at least. I'd rather not be watching them myself, either, so you're free to check them and report if anything out of the ordinary is there." His physique was tensing up already. These weren't going to be the ones… he could just feel it.

Sitting down in a chair, he waited for the results. It took too long. At last Richard sighed out, got up, and threw open the door into the first of the two interrogation rooms. The door shut with a snap. With the intercom on, Aidan heard loud and clear how Richard hit the table with his fists and hissed, "I know you've got it. Tell me where it is!"

Aidan winced and closed his eyes, not willing to watch. In his head, he tried to separate the angry, ruthless man in the next room from the man who had kissed him so tenderly the night before. Before Richard was done interrogating Jameson, Aidan was hugging himself and rocking. _Please, please, please,_ he whispered silently. _Please tell him what he wants to hear._ But of course, Jameson didn't.

Suddenly, Richard's cell phone came to life in his pocket. 

"Mr. Armitage," Dean O'Gorman's voice came through the ear speaker, "there's an urgent matter back at Armitage that requires your immediate attention. I can have a car out front of the warehouse in five minutes."

"What urgent matter?" Richard, with increasing anger at the steady dawning that these two men were not it, hissed. Jameson sat with a split lip and a bruised eye when he spat into the phone. He practically bristled, jammed a knife between the terrified man's fingers, and turned on his heels. "With me!" Richard commanded Aidan and waited not for a reply. He grabbed him by the arm and jerked him out of the room. "Your boyfriend says something's up. I'm praying very hard it's got nothing to do with you."

"We've found something in the banking records of one of Armitage's employees," Dean told Richard. Dean's head was aching ferociously as he drove the limo towards the warehouse. "James Nesbitt received a cash transfer of one million pounds last night." _Fucking idiot!_ Dean thought. _Stupid!_ James had given their customer his actual bank account number instead of creating an off-shore account. James was fucked, and Dean wasn't about to do a damn thing to help him. He had something more important to attend to. He’d heard chatter about Richard taking Aidan with him to ID suspects and knew it was time to put his plan in motion.

"I'm out front, Mr. Armitage," he told his employer over the phone, getting out of the limousine to open the passenger door for them.

Richard all but dragged Aidan to the car. He was well fed up with it all; his suspects turned out to be more interested in Aidan on a personal level than his professional endeavors, then he hadn't liked seeing the pictures of how Aidan and Dean used to be—and the fact that the first time he saw Aidan properly smile ended up being in a picture with his ex—and, on top of that, there was this. It ought to make him happy. It didn't. "You know Nesbitt?" he demanded of Aidan as he urged them out and to the car. "We're going after him. And if he's the one, you'll be watching, Turner. You'll be watching as I tear him to shreds."

No nice words were left for the man by his side when he pulled up by the car, expecting someone to open the door because by now, he wasn't going to do it himself.

Aidan chose his words very carefully as Richard's grip threatened to tear his shoulder from its joint. "James has the office next to mine," he told Richard. "We have lunch together sometimes."

When the door opened, spilling them out into the bright sunshine, Dean was waiting for them, standing next to a black limousine. With an unreadable look, Dean opened the door for Richard. "Here you go, sir," he said, nodding to Richard. He didn't meet Aidan's eye, and closed the door behind the pair once they were inside the vehicle.

But Dean hadn't missed the bruises on Aidan's face, or the rage on Richard's. He knew he was about to do the right thing. 

Once inside the darkened interior of the company limo, Aidan shrank away into a corner, too scared to do anything else.

Richard noticed. He was almost too angry to push it away in favor of ignoring his distress, but he hated seeing Aidan like this, shying away from him. He willed himself to be calm. "Maybe he's the one," he tried to speak with control. "You'll be free if he is. You wouldn't have to be around me any more." Though bitterly, he forced the words out. "Maybe Nesbitt is the one."

Aidan just nodded nervously as Dean started the vehicle and it drove smoothly out of the parking lot and onto the street. Dean's blue eyes met his in the rear view mirror and Dean smiled at him with calm assurance. Then, the panel between the driver compartment and passenger compartment slid closed with a soft _thunk_.

Aidan didn't speak and there was no sound in the cabin except for the gentle whoosh of the air vents. Aidan found his lack of sleep catching up with him and his eyes closed momentarily. Seconds later, he jerked himself awake, suddenly feeling extremely dizzy. 

"Richard," he said, warning bells going off in his head. "Something's wrong. I-I’m dizzy."

In his rage, Richard had come to the same conclusion seconds before. His adrenaline rush would never have made him this angry, and he looked around him with wide eyes, hyperaware at once, to see where the source of their mutual dizziness was coming from. 

In the end, Richard resorted to covering his nose and mouth with the collar of his coat and only survived a little longer than Aidan, who passed out cold before him. The sight of Aidan in distress ratcheted up his heartbeat. Unfortunately, that only knocked him out sooner.

"O'Gorman?" he asked with betrayal thick in his voice.

Ten seconds after Aidan, Richard collapsed on the back seat on top of him.

Dean pulled the limousine up next to his own rental car that he'd stashed in an out-of-the-way abandoned church parking lot. He disconnected the container of anesthesia and tubing in the front seat and shoved both into his briefcase. He stowed the briefcase in the backseat of his car, then returned to the limo. He opened the back door and regarded the sight before him with a tired sigh.

With a grunt, he pulled his boss off of Aidan and leaned Richard's unresponsive form against the opposite window. He reached into Richard's pocket and pulled out the all-powerful remote control, smashing it to the ground under his foot. He put its crushed remains on the car seat next to Richard. He also pocketed Richard's cell phone. Then, he gently lifted Aidan from the limo and carried him to his waiting sedan, placing his sleeping form in the front seat.

"It's gonna be okay, Aid," he told him, though he knew Aidan couldn't hear him. Maybe he was trying to convince himself. He shut the limo up tight with Armitage inside and drove away with Aidan.


	7. Ethan and Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Dean has "rescued" Aidan from Richard's clutches, how will the ruthless software magnate retaliate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aidan Turner and Dean O'Gorman written by ThornyHedge
> 
> Richard Armitage and various OCs written by BlueMonkey

It took a while before Richard regained consciousness. At first, he felt like he'd just had a good sleep. But, still slightly drugged, other factors kicked in. He was inside his car, which was the first hint of something amiss. Then, when he tried to get out and realized that the door was jammed and the car not moving, understanding began to trickle in.

_Dean._

The seat next to him was empty. No, not empty. It was occupied, though solely by his crushed remote; there was no Aidan. Richard froze. "No," he whispered. This couldn't have been Aidan's plan all along. The man truly couldn’t have known. Richard would have gotten it out of him.

Nevertheless, Aidan was gone.

And Richard sat locked in his own car, powerless to do anything about that.

It hurt more than Dean's betrayal did.

\-------

When Aidan regained consciousness, he felt like he'd gone back in time. He was lying on his side, facing Dean, who was asleep in jeans and a t-shirt. Aidan reached out to touch Dean's arm to verify he wasn't dreaming. Dean sighed in his sleep and snuggled in closer.

Aidan didn't want to wake him, as he was clearly exhausted from his rescue effort. His _rescue effort!_ Dean had just rescued him from Richard Armitage! Well, almost. Aidan was displeased to notice the collar was still around his neck. Dean must have drugged them both and spirited him away. 

Aidan gingerly got out of bed to avoid disturbing Dean. They were in a motel in a remote part of the city, according to the brochure on the dresser. Next to the brochure, Aidan found a manila folder with his name on it. He opened to find a new driver's license, social security card, birth certificate and other records. All had his face on them, but a different name: Ethan Mills. A second folder held similar documents, obviously belonging to Dean, but with the name Gregory Prescott on them.

Things were coming together in Aidan's head. Dean had partnered with James—who _could_ hack. Sharing information, they were able to perpetrate the crime and steal Richard's information. They'd sold it, but James had made a mistake—somehow—and Dean had left him out to dry. Dean was planning to leave the country. With money, and with Aidan. With _me,_ Aidan found himself smiling.

He found a roast beef sandwich wrapped in foil next to the folders. It was obviously intended for him, as Dean didn't like roast beef. He gratefully ate the sandwich and wondered what other surprises Dean had in store for him.

\-------

On the other side of town, Richard woke from where he'd drifted off with a sore back. A repeated knock on the window woke him properly.

"Sir?" Connor asked. "Please sit back, sir."

Before he knew it, a crowbar made impact with the window. Richard couldn't help but look down at his own bloody hands. They hadn't been able to cause a dent in the bulletproof windows, though his skin was fairly damaged. As soon as the glass cracked into a maze of cubes, he started crawling out… and stumbled as the remnants of the anesthesia hit him. 

Connor was by his side at once. "Mr. Armitage?" he asked. "What happened here? Where is Turner?"

Ah. Right. Then there was that.

Richard looked out over the Thames. It would have been a beautiful sight, early enough to see light creeping over the skyline, but the beauty was lost on him; it only made him squint and raise a hand before his eyes.

"Find him," he spoke hoarsely. "You're not to report back to me until you know where he is."

"Sir," Connor tried. "We should be focusing our attention on O'Gorman. Not—”

"Get Turner back," Richard cut him off. "Find him, and we find O'Gorman." As much as it pained him so, that was as much an excuse as it was the truth.

\-------

Dean must have been really exhausted from his efforts. He didn't stir until 7 a.m. rolled around. Aidan was sitting by the window admiring Ethan Mills' passport when Dean yawned and opened his eyes.

"Aidan," he smiled at the brunet. "I wasn't sure you'd stick around." He sat up, straightening his tousled hair with both hands. A twinge in his back stopped him and he put one hand over it. "I think I need to lay off the heavy lifting for awhile," he quipped.

"Did you just call me fat?" Aidan grinned. How easily they could fall back into their comfortable ways. 

"Yeah, I guess I did," Dean blushed. "I didn't mean it. I see you found the sandwich. Good, good."

"Yes, thanks for that. I hadn't eaten very well the past few days," Aidan admitted.

"I imagine you haven't," Dean said in a measured voice. "I was so worried when I found out you'd been taken to Richard's loft. Not many people get out of there in one piece," he told him. "I should know."

"I know now too," Aidan said softly. "It was—it was nothing like I'd expected."

Dean got to his feet and walked over to where Aidan was sitting. He crouched in front of him and took Aidan's injured hand into his own, examining it. "Were you hurt anywhere else?" he wondered. "Besides your hand and your face?"

"Nowhere worth mentioning," Aidan averted his eyes. "Nothing hurts, if that's what you mean. You're right. I was very lucky, Dean."

"D-did he," Dean began, blushing "did he _try_ anything with you?"

"Nothing happened that I wasn't on board with," Aidan admitted, instantly regretting it. "Hey," he said, changing the subject. "Gregory, is it?"

Dean nodded. "Yes. I'll be Gregory. Aidan, I have to confess something to you. Something you probably already figured out on your own, but I want you to hear it from me. I used information from your blog. I knew when the vulnerability would take place. I asked James if he wanted to try to hack into Armitage. He did. _We did,_ " Dean admitted. "And we were paid. Paid well. I have one million pounds in the bank right now. Well, Gregory does," he smiled softly. 

"That Gregory is a lucky guy," Aidan locked eyes with him. "And he's an idiot."

"I know," Dean said ruefully. "But he loves you. More than he's ever loved anyone or anything in his life. Will you run away with me, _Ethan?_ " he wondered, taking Aidan's hands in both of his.

Aidan closed his eyes for a moment. Behind those eyes, he saw Richard's anger and the fear of being hunted. As much as he'd wanted Richard to be different, to Armitage, he was only a possession. It had been a foolish dream. Dean had always been real and had always supported him. He had been too star struck to see it.

"Yes," he said. "Yes. I'll run away with you, Gregory Prescott."

\-------

The activity indicator of the collar beeped faintly like it had been doing for days. Only this time, it did something else. Beyond their knowledge, their location was being geo-located and transmitted across waking London.

Connor looked up. "Camberwell, Mr. Armitage. Looks like he's still in the city. Would you like me to drive you there?"

Richard was aware that his men looked at him oddly for how faint he must look. The drugs were still causing his eyelids to twitch. He knew that within hours, Aidan would catch a flight and be out of his life. He wouldn't go for Heathrow or Stansted, probably. Too easy for Richard to track him down. Which left the very real possibility that Dean and Aidan would take an anonymous train ride elsewhere first, before embarking with carefully crafted new identities.

He needed to know Aidan hadn't played him—whether this had been the plan from the start. If it had, then Richard had never stood a chance against the breathtaking man who had touched himself blindfolded on his bed and had him captured from the get-go. But he couldn't believe that the words Aidan had said to him were falsehoods—how he had told him he wanted him.

If they were, then Aidan had truly defeated him.

"Get Nesbitt, search his computer and freeze his accounts. Have him declared dead through city hall. O'Gorman likewise. Send his family condolences. Wire his phone, trash his place, do whatever. I don't want either of them to feel like they can go anywhere. But don't lay a finger on Aidan if you intend to hurt him. He falls under my protection. Take me to him."

\-------

"Aidan," Dean noticed for the first time the collar around Aidan's neck. "Did Richard put that collar on you?"

Aidan nodded. "Yes. It shocks me when I piss him off. _He_ shocks me when I piss him off. I seem to be quite adept at it."

"Fuck," Dean whispered fearfully. "We have got to get that thing off of you. No doubt, it's got a homing signal in it," he muttered, examining it. "This thing's made of steel. No way scissors are going to cut it. Let me go out and see if I brought some wire cutters in my bag. I brought a lot of tools. If not, then I'll borrow some from the hotel manager. Sit tight," he placed a soft kiss to Aidan's temple. 

Dean turned around when he got to the door "I don't want to leave you again, Aidan. This is the last time, I promise." He hurried outside.

\-------

The road in which the car pulled up on the curb looked rather desolate. While the sky wasn't gray and old buildings littered the blocks, there was something dreary about this particular road. Perhaps it was the many cars, and the poorly decorated block of concrete that was supposed to pass for accommodations.

A motel. Of all places, Dean had to take Aidan to a motel.

Richard didn't see a car he recognized when he got out. One of the men, Jones, moved up to the reception to ask whether two people had checked in late last night. The receptionist told him, with a look that said she couldn’t care less, that she didn't have a shift last night, but she'd see what she could do. All in all, she took her time, and Richard was getting more and more frustrated by the minute. "Let her open each room, for the love of God," he muttered after she couldn't find the registry, "I don't care."

Connor came to a stop in front of him.

He looked contrite.

"You found something," Richard stated.

In his hand, he held up a small piece of metal with a distinguished light.

\-------

Ethan Mills and Greg Prescott, surprisingly, set up a modest home on the island of Maui, Hawaii. They fit in perfectly with the hodgepodge of internationals living in the area. They introduced themselves as a couple and immediately won over their neighbors. Money was no longer a concern for either of them, so both Dean and Aidan were able to do whatever they wanted with their time.

Dean built and opened a surf shop near their townhouse and spent his days selling surfboards and teaching tourists how to surf—a hobby he’d cultivated back in his native New Zealand. 

Aidan found a place working with the local senior population. Maui was a Mecca for retirees, and he spent his days volunteering in retirement communities, teaching older folks how to use technology to keep in touch with their loved ones.

Three months passed and each day, Greg and Ethan grew more acclimated and relaxed in their new life together.

\-------

The contrast with cold, rainy England couldn’t have been greater. Although England never had a moment where internet went slow enough to get annoying—or it could be solved by kicking a neighbor off your wireless network, or preferably getting into his computer first while you were at it—living here, you could go without.

If you didn't love computers.

The digital footprint of their whereabouts had, filtered through the noise of the world wide web, gradually begun tracing back to a loft in the country they now officially never lived in.

It was a Tuesday night, his laptop in front of him, when Richard hacked his way into the closest security cam of his latest coordinates, rewound, and finally caught sight of what he'd been looking for for three months now.

He played it again, and again, to make sure.

Data had been recovered, and money lost. Many things had happened. His world was back in order, like it ought to be. Aidan's replacement at the office was the only piece of the puzzle that didn't fit. The hole that it left in the fabric of Richard’s world was too large to stop him from unraveling.

So on Wednesday morning, he booked a flight and found his heart pounding in his chest.

\-----

“Irene and Dana invited us to a cookout tonight,” Dean told Aidan when he got home from Oceanside Villa, where he’d been teaching seniors how to use Skype all day.

“Dana’s the one who makes that amazing pineapple upside-down cake, isn’t she?” Aidan’s stomach growled at the thought of it. When Dean nodded, he said, “Well, let’s take over a case of beer and a couple bottles of wine. Life is good, right?” he swept Dean up in a hug.

“Life is very good, Ethan,” Dean kissed him soundly. “And it gets better every time you walk in the door.”

“Lemme grab a shower,” Aidan smacked him playfully on the ass. “You go buy the beer.”

“You got it, babe,” Dean kissed him again, then picked up his keys, wallet and sunglasses. He jogged out to their Jeep and drove down to the beer distributor.

The camera neatly registered his leave.

Aidan's phone buzzed, Dean's number flashing on screen. "Could you come outside for a bit?"

The weather was sweltering. Unaccustomed to this kind of oppressive heat in his nice business suit, Richard removed the jacket to fling it over his arms quickly, and kept to the shades.

It was nice just to be watching him from a distance again. There were no manacles this time, no hurtful words to keep him subdued. Aidan was smiling, and he was gorgeous. He had missed that.

"Come on," he typed into his phone, and the hack had it converted into Dean's phone number, "Don't leave me waiting here," with what was, he hoped, a playful tone.

Aidan came out the front door of their townhouse, looking like he’d just stepped out of the shower. He’d put on a baggy red bathing suit with white flowers on it, as there happened to be one hanging in the bathroom. It emphasized the deep tan he’d acquired during the past few months. Aidan knit his brow, looking around for Dean’s Jeep, then started back inside when he didn’t see it.

"Please don't walk away," Richard typed through Dean's number.

Aidan looked down at the buzzing phone. "Where are you?" he texted to the blond.

Richard stepped out of the shadows of the shed, his hands in his pockets. He looked down while he did, not wanting to frighten the man too much, but he couldn't help himself when he spoke, "I'm right here. Don't run, please."


	8. One Fucked-Up Puppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan decides to go to Richard's hotel, despite his foreboding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean O'Gorman and Aidan Turner penned by ThornyHedge
> 
> Richard "I'm too sexy for my glasses" Armitage penned by BlueMonkey

Aidan took a step backwards, face growing considerably paler. “You found us,” he said weakly,” taking another step away from his former employer. “W-Where’s Dean?” he felt himself panicking.

"He doesn't know I’m here. He said he was getting you beer, right?"

Richard could have picked a better first few words. Letting Aidan know he'd been keeping an eye on them, well... He breathed out and tried another step in Aidan's direction. "Don't worry. I can't condone what he did to me, but he means a lot to you. If he doesn't do anything stupid, he'll be safe. Are you happy?"

Aidan was taken aback by the question. “Y-yes,” he finally answered. “Ethan Mills is one of the happiest men on Earth.” He hugged himself, chilled, despite the heat. “Richard… what are you going to do?”

Richard looked away sadly. The seaside seemed too peaceful for him now. He'd had three months worth of plans what he'd do if he'd ever see him again. Now, he was here, and he didn't know what to do. All of his thoughts evaporated. "Ethan. The name suits you. How about Aidan Turner? Is _he_ happy?"

“Aidan died back in London,” the younger man said. “Didn’t you hear? Horrible auto accident—with James Nesbitt and Dean O’Gorman, no doubt,” his voice waivered.

Though that had never been set up. Not Aidan. Richard had tracked down Adam as his only lead, and hadn't had it in himself to add Aidan to the car crash. So he told him he went away, and as his boss, he didn't know anything more about that either.

To have Aidan tell him that that man Richard couldn't get out of his head was dead, was as clear as rejection could be. He should have expected it, but Aidan had sounded so convincing when he spoke of how he'd dreamt of Richard, once.

"... I thought I might find him here. I'm sorry, Ethan. I was mistaken. Do you want me to go?"

“I’m afraid of you, Richard,” Aidan told him. “I only recently started to believe that everything was going to be okay. I should have known better,” he clung to the door frame, afraid his legs might give out. Adrenaline was coursing through his body. "I-I'm sorry I left like that. I didn't plan it."

Richard smiled behind his glasses; there was no joy in his eyes. "I didn't come here to upset your life. Or rather, I did. I foolishly hoped that you'd still believe in what you told me once, about after office hours and reasons for breaking up with someone who could have made you happy. I'd sweep you off your feet and carry you back with me, because that's what I planned. Our plans don't turn out the way we want them to, do they?" He took a step back.

“You came here to… to _woo_ me?” Aidan smiled tentatively. “After everything, _that’s_ why you’re here?” 

The man in front of him shrugged helplessly. "You didn't pick up on the hints I've been throwing around on your blog and in your mail for the past couple of months, did you?" He'd been trying, covertly, to get a message across. "I'm not here to ruin your life. I've put you through enough. Now, Dean deserves it, but I promise I'll leave him alone as long as I don't see him. We've got our data back. It's a little lonely, though, not having someone walk around in your worn-down clothes during breakfast."

“You got the data back because _I_ sent it back. I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell Dean. He probably thinks Nesbitt caved or something,” Aidan confessed. “I felt guilty, I guess. Even though it wasn’t my doing. It was the least I could do.”

Richard parted his lips to speak, though he wasn't sure what to say. "You...?" He leaned back against the shed and looked at his watch. "I should probably go soon. Don't want him to catch me here. I won't tell him, you have my word." Again, "That was you?"

The tip had been anonymous, and through nobody who could be linked back to him. The routing had been perfect; a loop that went on and on and had beginning nor end. A wonderful signature. How Richard hadn't recognized Aidan's handiwork struck him as impossible, now that he knew. "Thank you."

Awkwardly he pointed over his shoulder and made up his mind. "My flight leaves Saturday, five o'clock. I don't need to tell you which hotel I'm staying at, as I'm sure that if you really want to find me, you'll figure it out. If there's anything left of Aidan that didn't die when he escaped the country, please look me up. I came unarmed."

That said, he took in Aidan's form once again for a long moment, bowed, and turned.

Gods, how he had missed him.

Aidan just nodded and smiled sadly as Richard got into his obscenely expensive rental car and drove away. _How dare he?_ he thought to himself has he went inside the home he shared with Dean. Finally, his knees gave out and he sank against the wall inside the door in a gelatinous heap, weeping. “Goddamn you, Richard,” he sobbed. “No. Stay away. Stay away!” he cried, clapping both hands over his mouth to quell his emotions. 

When Dean found him twenty minutes later, he explained that he’d gotten scared at a sound he’d heard and that he was _so_ relieved that Dean’d gotten home so quickly. Aidan collected himself and they went to the barbecue—Ethan and Greg, the perfect couple.

Although his collapse could easily have been watched by Richard, who had enough access by now to get into Aidan's laptop's webcam, he didn't. He hadn't done so before, either. There was such a thing as privacy; a concept he had failed to grasp before but now came close to, 'I might not want to know'. Particularly when Dean was in the room, Richard found that he really didn't want to know. In this situation, Aidan in shambles, he would have been equally glad and mortified. Instead, he chose to spend the afternoon going on roundtrips and having a scuba diving class, doing exactly the things Hawaii expected its tourists to do, simply to get his mind off the matter.

He felt like a pale, stiff Englishman in the face of this easy lifestyle.

Even if Aidan wanted him and found him, which he thought was unlikely at best, Richard didn't expect it to happen soon. And what else was he to do to occupy his mind?

Hawaii was wonderful. But he kept wondering how Aidan would look in the picture beside him.

It really served him right that he hadn't done these things while he had still had the chance. Richard had been blinded. It had taken too-quiet nights and an empty panic room—now disassembled—to come to that conclusion. Throughout their last day together, Richard had had notions of restoring things between them once Aidan was free, perhaps by taking him for dinner some time or helping him find a new job. That chance never came.

And then, full of hope and foolishness, he'd flown to Hawaii. Aidan had said he wanted him, a long time ago. That couldn't have been gone. Right? But now, seeing how happy they were, Dean and him, he wondered how he was ever going to beat that.

\-------

Dean finally noticed, two mornings later, that Aidan wasn’t really eating—just pushing food around with his fork. A tell-tale sign that he was upset. Every now and then, they both got moody. They’d been unable to contact former friends and family. Everyone thought they were dead. Life on the run, even with millions, took its toll. It was for that reason that Dean didn’t speak up, and decided to let whatever _this_ was, run its course.

“I’ve got lessons until five this afternoon,” Dean told Aidan when he left for the shop, planting a kiss to Aidan’s tousled hair. 

“I’m heading over to The Quay at eleven,” Aidan placed his hand over Dean’s on his shoulder. “I should be out by five as well. Dinner tonight?”

“Steak?” Dean hugged him from behind. “You look like you could use it, Aid.”

“Steak sounds amazing,” Aidan smiled, rising to give him a proper kiss. And it did. As Dean left for the day, Aidan pushed aside fears that Richard would be following him, possibly waiting somewhere to kill him.

 _It’s me he’s waiting for,_ Aidan thought ruefully. And today he was going to talk to Richard. He’d easily traced him to Wailea Beach Villas. Instead of work, today he was going over there for some sort of closure.

\-------

The hotel room had been eerily silent for as long as Richard had waited. Having known that if Aidan showed up at all, he would not appear the first or the second day, he'd taken to distracting himself. There was a book on the sofa, some magazines in his bag, and a camera on the table. Too many clothes were strewn about; his calculation of Hawaii weather had been poorly miscalculated, which meant he had bought new clothes in the city, and they turned out not to fit in his crammed suitcase.

Only a few hours remained, and he felt himself getting nervous now.

Don't drive yourself crazy thinking about it, he told himself. If Aidan didn't come, he'd tried. He would have at least stopped himself from wondering what could ever be—even though the reasoning sounded logical, he couldn't find himself agreeing that he'd really be at peace with Aidan staying away.

Here, with only his laptop, a wallet and a few articles of clothing on him whilst he stared at the door, his shoulders steadily slumping and his hair still wet from the morning dive he'd forced himself to take, he felt awkwardly exposed.

Time was ticking away. Only a few hours until he had to go. He packed his suitcase and sat it by the door.

Aidan steeled himself for what he was about to do. He'd dressed in a light beige silk summer suit. It was the most expensive thing he owned—worth more than his car. He knew Richard had never seen him dressed so well. He hoped it made what he was about to do easier for both of them. 

Somewhat giddy from lack of proper food and amped up on adrenaline, he approached the door of Richard's suite at this very posh resort. Twice he reached out to knock on the door, then halted. _I have wanted this man since I was 14 and saw his picture on the cover of a hacker magazine,_ he thought. _I need to have my head examined._

Then he knocked. Several times.

When Richard opened the door, Aidan greeted him. "I'm here."

\-------

Any time now, someone was going to call out 'housekeeping' or something similar and ruin his hopes. He waited for it. It didn't come. When Richard snapped out of it, he realized he'd been letting the knock go unanswered for too long. Quickly he rushed to the door, threw it open, and looked straight into the immaculate appearance of Aidan. Or Ethan, because Aidan in that kind of suit didn't match up.

It was too formal for him. As was his expression.

"Hey," he said. "You made it." Richard brushed away having sounded surprised quickly, when he stepped aside. "You want to come in, or go for a walk? I feared you wouldn't come. Anything's fine. We can grab a bite if you want?" He was rambling.

"You look really good," he added lamely.

"You always looked so impressive in suits," Aidan smiled gently. "I figured I should pick up a few—now that I have the means," he added, walking into the room. "Richard, I need to clarify some things for you. That day, in the limo. I had no idea what Dean was planning. He thought he was rescuing me--from you. So he did." The words came pouring out. "And I wasn't his partner in crime, although being here with him certainly makes me look guilty. He and James did it--but I guess you know that now." 

He admired the view from Richard's room for a few seconds before turning around to face Richard. "I want to make a deal with you."

Richard turned to the defensive at once. He lowered his head, despite the good mood that Aidan had started to put him into with his previous words.

"I didn't come here to strike a bargain, Aidan," he said. "I don't have demands, and I'm not going to go after Dean unless he provokes me. You have my word on that. I want you for you, not for the price I could get you at."

They didn't get off at the good foot. He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. Come on, let me get you a drink and we start this over. How have you been?"

"I thought, being a businessman, that'd you'd appreciate that approach," Aidan said, tone guarded. "Although you don't look like a businessman right now. You rather look like a tourist. And you tanned a bit. The relaxed look suits you."

He took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the suite's couch. "I'd like a Coke, if you have any."

"Ah yes," Richard looked down self-consciously. "Not my finest suit, I admit, but it's the weather. Anything more than a shirt and shorts is intolerable. Well. You know how it is." After all, Aidan had been living here for a few months now. By the looks of him, and the nice tan, it had done him well. He tossed him a bottle and an opener and opened the wide doors outside. In the shadow, a comfortable breeze ruffled him.

While he toyed with the ice cold bottle of water himself, he looked over his shoulder. "It's really good seeing you again. It's… good to see a smile. I never gave you a chance to, did I?" He looked away sadly. Richard had screwed up.

Aidan huffed before he could stop himself. "That's putting it mildly. But I get it, Richard. You were upset. You were doing your job," he studied Richard's actions carefully as he reached into the kitchen drawer, expecting a weapon to appear at any moment. "I put you in a terrible position. I was a fool to expect to win you over with just a smile and my skills." He took a swig of the soda to help calm his jittery stomach. "All I wanted was to show you the weakness in your network security and I wound up unwittingly opening Pandora's Box. I feel so horrible about that."

"I can't really blame you," Richard said as he sat down and watched him. A certain distance had crept up between them, one he was unsure how to breach. "But I blame Dean for using that to tunnel into my administration. If it weren't for what he did, I would never have had to take you in." He sighed out. "That's the past, I suppose. We have our data back. You've been together since you escaped, haven't you? Is he treating you right?"

"Dean's always treated me wonderfully," Aidan told him. "We fought, like normal couples do. But I was the one with problems. Dean's focused and driven and works hard. I'm a slacker—a dreamer. Sometimes that can be a very bad combination," Aidan studied his clasped hands and made a confession. "He was angry at me for leaving him. You see, I had this crazy fantasy about that meeting I'd planned for you and me—the one you cancelled. I had this dream that I'd come in and show you the flaw in your system that I'd found and you'd be, like, 'Where have you been all my life?' and I'd say something cute like, 'Down in the I.T. department.' You know, like in a bad romantic comedy. But that didn't happen... so I got desperate, and I was stupid. And I cost you millions. I should be in jail right now," he nearly whispered.

Richard could not keep his eyes off him. "I never...," he started, wetting his lips. "You never told me you broke up with him for a meeting with me. Or that you meant for it to be more." He felt terrible for it. Sure enough, Miranda had been the one cancelling it, and at that time Richard had never seen Aidan before. Nonetheless, he felt awful.

"I probably would not have said that to you," he admitted. A smile approached his lips. "Maybe after a few talks and dinners, and a long due promotion. I regret how things went between us, Aidan. If you want to stay here and be with a Dean, I understand that. I would not like it, but I've done enough to you to give you at least that small thing. But I'm not here to give him you without a fight."

Truth be told, Richard thought that Aidan's little confession was endearing. Slowly, his nerves gave way and he relaxed.

As relaxed as wanting to kiss someone's lights out could be.

"Of course I never told you about it. I was too ashamed. I have always been ashamed of my feelings," Aidan got up and started pacing. "Can you imagine... being a 15-year-old boy, and all around you, in the locker room, the lads are talking about how hot Brittney Spears is, or how badly they'd like to bed certain actresses. And there I am, holding a torch for some multi-millionaire hacker I saw on the cover of a magazine. He's twice my age and I want him. I want him so badly I get amazing grades and I go to MIT with the sole purpose of working for him," Aidan took a long pull from the soda to build his courage up. "I got the job, obviously. But then I realized... he doesn't know I exist. He didn't hire me. His _people_ did. He's surrounded by gatekeepers and security. Even though I work for him, he may as well be on the moon. And I am one fucked up puppy who can't have normal relationships because I can't stop obsessing about him, even though he wanted to kill me, and probably should have!" 

Aidan stopped talking, out of breath and appalled by what he'd told Richard. He stood, in the center of the room, not knowing what to do next. 

Richard could have picked from a million things to say right there and then. Aidan had wanted him for so long. Slightly freaked out and larger parts flattered, he could have mentioned how he hated the term hacker, since all he did was breach security, find weaknesses where there ought to be none. And he happened to be very good at it.

He could have. He did not. Instead he got up, slowly as not to scare him unnecessarily, and approached him until he stood in front of him.

When Aidan didn't step away, Richard took the chance. He kissed him on the cheek, tentatively.

Aidan blinked and a fat tear rolled down each cheek, cooling the spot Richard's lips had warmed. His breathing was labored and he couldn't decide whether to run away or give Richard one final chance. 

"How does it make you feel—me telling you this? That I planned my life around the hope of meeting you? That I've basically been in love with you since I first understood what it meant to be in love?" he raised his eyes to search Richard's face. "Because, just listening to it, I sound like a deranged, mental stalker."

"You do." Richard couldn't help but offer a fledgling smile and see if it could be infectious. He didn't want Aidan to cry. Richard had had his share of seeing him in pain, and he had vowed to himself not to be the cause for more. That was the only reason why he was willing to step aside for Dean. "It's... constricting, hearing that from someone you haven't known for ten years, who's had a thing for you all those years. I treated you terribly, and all that time you continued to like me. I don't understand why. I haven't done a thing to deserve it. And it's frightening me." 

He tried to rub away the tear. Aidan was supposed to be happy. "It seems I hurt you again. I'm sorry. You know why I'm here, Aidan. You must have done something right there, because for a stalker you're smart, and beautiful, and I can't stop thinking about you. So you see, I can be okay with having a stalker, if it's you. I just don't understand why you're crying, when I did so many terrible things that should have burnt your dedication away."

"Maybe that's why I'm upset," Aidan hazarded a guess. "Because, by all accounts, I should loathe you. I should run away, drive home, get Dean and go into hiding. But instead, I'm here, and you're touching me and I hate myself for wanting it so much. For wanting _you_ so much."

Aidan's emotions spun. His guilt towards Dean, who had always been there for him, was powerful. But the physical attraction he'd always felt towards Richard was older, and stronger—and winning.

By those words, Richard's mind was made up. He didn't care about Dean unless it was who Aidan wanted. Richard was a selfish man. He wanted Aidan and, for him to be dragged over the ledge by one foot, to be told he was still wanted, gravity and desire pulled him over entirely. He pulled Aidan into a kiss. 

It was slow and sure. Unlike the first time they'd shared a kiss, Richard gave him plenty of opportunity to pull away, as the thread spun between them was fragile and thinning. He didn't cup his face with his hands like he wanted to, and he didn't push forward. Aidan had space to make up his own mind.

But Richard hoped he wouldn't. He could get drunk off the sensations of Aidan's lips alone.

Aidan let out an involuntary pained cry when Richard's lips met his. _Maybe,_ he thought, _it's my heart that's breaking. Maybe it's my sanity._

He knew that, either way, this was going to be his last chance to make an impression on his former employer. So, he took a deep breath and gave into his desires. He slid one hand around Richard's waist and drew the man closer to him, slipping the hand up under the back of Richard's shirt and coming into contact with the warm, solid flesh of his back. The other hand crept up Richard's chest, and instead of pushing him away, like any sane person would have done, he continued the hand up to Richard's face, using the leverage to deepen the kiss with a pleasured moan. 

Against his own hardness, Aidan could feel Richard responding. He hoped he wasn't making the second biggest mistake of his life.

The intensity of Aidan's response was sudden and a proper brick wall rushing at Richard, who had been expecting an equally subdued kiss. Overwhelmed, he gripped him tight, wrapping arms around the low of his back just to feel the man's chest pressed against his own. The kiss soon grew equally more demanding. Opposite the way his body moved on its own accord, wanting more, Richard himself fumbled when a surge of adrenaline shot through his stomach. This was happening, then.

Too soon however, he forced himself to separate from Aidan. "I..." Richard started. God, he didn't know how to say this. Breathlessly, he shook his head. "Not just one night. If we do this, and you should know I want us to do this, then that's the choice you make. Or if it's not, please, tell me now. Because in that case I will gladly miss my flight and have you until every part of you is committed to memory and everything I have wanted to do with you done, to sustain me when you're gone."

"Y-you've actually thought about what you might want to do—with me?" Aidan asked hopefully. 

Richard tucked a stray tendril of curly hair back behind his ear. It fell back forward easily. "Well, I believe you working late in the IT department is going to be a hard one to fulfill." He kissed his cheek. "You really shouldn't have told me that. You don't know how many times I've imagined it after." Richard's lips traveled to his ear. "I shouldn't be tempting you to say the latter. Don't say the latter."

"If you want an immediate decision from me, Richard, I can't give that," Aidan told him gently, but firmly. "I have way too much invested in both my dreams to makes a decision like that so flippantly. I can tell you this... if I come back to London, I won't be coming back to be your lover. I want it all. I want a job. A damn good one. I want to work with you, and not because we're sleeping together, but because I'm frightfully good at what I do. I want to be more than a secret in safe room," Aidan's eyes took on a resolve that Richard hadn't seen before. "Because I _do_ have drive, and I _do_ have goals."

He realized he'd been ardent and slowed down a bit. "I'm sorry if this isn't what you want to hear. But do you really want to be with someone who enters into things so lightly?"

"Those were the terms you were going to propose to me?"

Here Richard thought they would have been about Dean. He nipped once at his earlobe before he pulled away and took a good look. Determination was writ in Aidan’s dark eyes, as well as the inability to yield. Richard inclined his head. "I see you've changed in more ways than one. So it seems we're back to the negotiation board. Very well. I suppose I could get you transferred to London. I can't give Dean the same treatment, seeing that he's declared dead. Or perhaps I could, but frankly I don't think I want him to, based on good reasons exceeding any stray jealous notions I might have about the man. But you'll have to explain how you want to be working with me. You know what I do. I've been delegating the stressful parts to someone else since recently but still, I'm afraid it's still not pretty."

Richard paused there to gauge his reaction.

"The terms I came here to propose _did_ involve Dean, actually," Aidan confessed. "I was going to tell you that I'd come back with you—as long as you promised to leave him alone, forever, guaranteeing that no harm would come to him. Above all else, he's my best mate. I would die if anything happened to him."

"Ugh," he shrugged out of Richard's arms. "Now I'm _really_ not saying what you want to hear." He reached for his Coke and finished the bottle in two swallows. "I meant what I said back in London. And it's more obvious now than ever. Armitage International needs a smart, savvy head of cyber-security. I am that person. I know you feel that _you_ are the best person for the job, as you've been shouldering the burden for so long. But, your job is enormous. You need someone by your side who has a vested interest in the company, and in you. Someone skilled, someone who's not turned off by your... extra-curricular activities," he shrugged.

"This sounded better in my head,” Aidan admitted.

Richard turned to follow Aidan with his eyes. He leaned back against the closest chair and took him in with his head tipped sideways. Richard was still a predator; he was still deciding whether this man was prey, or an equal. Reason dictated the most logical outcome, though he quite liked the idea of hunting Aidan. "You're saying you would have come with me as long as I don't hurt Dean? Because I gave you my word on that already. Does that mean I have you? I want to hear you say it, Aidan, so I know I'm not fooling myself."

The subject of Aidan working for him was easily bypassed.

"You said you wouldn't hurt him if he didn't provoke you," Aidan reminded him. "But he _might._ He loves me. He's proven it over and over. And he may well fight for me. I want assurance that he won't be harmed, even if he shows up on your doorstep. I will do everything I can to make him decide not to follow me, Richard. I'll tell him I don't love him, that I've moved on, gotten everything I ever dreamed of getting," tears sprang to Aidan's eyes. "He's so happy here," he said, in conclusion. "I just want him to be happy, and safe."

Aidan sank into a chair. "This—this isn't going quite as I envisioned."

"You did think about this, didn't you?" Minute as it might seem, it also implied that while Richard had stared at that door in waiting of the knock that might also never have come, Aidan had thought about these things. He couldn't picture him to have been very happy over the span of his stay at Richard’s loft.

"Don't tell him you don't love him anymore," Richard looked up. "Tell him the truth. I don't want him to find out we're together—God, it feels weird, saying that out loud—from someone or somewhere else. And if he shows up on my doorstep or pulls a heist on me again, you should know I won't be forgiving, Aidan. I can only promise you to spare his life and his limbs and hope that it'll be enough for you."

How they could discuss the terms of a relationship so coolly surprised him. But what had he expected? Though for a moment Aidan had moved in to go for more, too much had happened between them to have his trust.

Richard sighed out, trying to get rid of tension and awkwardness.

"I never thought I'd have to bargain for your heart. Does that usually happen when one man likes another?"

Aidan smiled. “I’m no expert, as I’ve told you. But it _is_ about compromise.” He looked the other man in the eyes. “We need to get to know one another, Richard. I can’t just run away with you. You hardly know me… or I you. Will you stay another week, here in Hawaii? We can—we can _date_ ,” he suggested, knowing it sounded terribly lame. “The company can survive a little while longer without you, can’t they? The time away seems to be agreeing with you. I could show you the islands. There’s still so much I’ve yet to discover.”

Richard chuckled at that suggestion. Certainly, he was amenable, though, "I have to admit, I left the company on a bit of a whim. Most of them think I'm ill at home. It doesn't look good for morale to be in the middle of an important merger and go off to Hawaii for three days to chase something you would never have had, and then never should have lost. Most of the men I populate the board room with have long forgotten what it's like to want someone that strongly. Imagine the joy when I have to make up excuses for my sunburn."

He couldn't help but keep looking at him. Wanting him strongly was no understatement; it was the first time they talked to each other this openly, and the first time Aidan let down his guard around him. It felt good. Richard's chest filled with indescribable need to hold him or touch him, or _anything_. He held back so as not to lose the ground he'd just won. "Give me a week to tie up loose ends, and I will come back for you. That should give you time to sort things out with Dean. And then I'll finally take you out for that dinner."

Aidan was right. They didn't know each other. All they'd had between them was slightly dysfunctional.

"Do you promise to come back? Alone?" Aidan asked, eyes wide with the notion that Richard might consider his offer at all. He appreciated the extra time to speak with Dean and get him to safety, but another part of him screamed out that if Richard left now, he'd get sucked back into Armitage International and forget about him. "What time's your flight again?" he asked shyly, a hint of pink peeking through his island tan.

"I certainly wouldn't be taking anyone with me," Richard's fingers started toying with a pen within reach. Be it out of nervousness or habit, he caught himself several times, stopped, and continued again. At last he put the cursed thing out of reach. "Of course I'd come back for you, and I would be alone. I'm here now, am I not? They still think I caught a particularly stubborn flu. I booked my flight a day before leaving."

He watched Aidan long enough to potentially make him uncomfortable. "It's at five, so I should leave in an hour. A few minutes later and I would have thought you wouldn't come," Richard trailed off. His eyes bored into Aidan with something akin to desperation. "Promise me you're not just using this situation to get back to London and your family, and are not telling me all this when you're not… when it's not me you really want."

"An hour, huh?" Aidan eyed the Brit thoughtfully for a moment. "And I see you have little luggage. I'll drive you to the airport. That gives us plenty of time," he slowly stripped off his suit jacket, dark eyes clearly telegraphing his intentions to Richard, "for a little fun before we actually discover we _do_ hate one another."

He lay his jacket over the back of a chair, kicked off his shoes and walked into the suite's bedroom. "You coming?"


	9. Only One Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Totally gratuitous Aidan/Richard hotel sex... with an interesting twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard Armitage written by BlueMonkey
> 
> Aidan Turner written by ThornyHedge

Richard did not stay seated for long. While he had certainly had _hopes_ , he hadn't dared think this would be in it for him. Especially not when he promised Aidan to return in a week's time. And an hour was an awfully short time to spend mapping his body. So when Aidan's suggestion hit home, he allowed the man the time to walk into the room, before slipping out of his pastel yellow shirt—the shop did not have his usual grey, so he decided to not go for his usual whites and live a little—and stepping out of his sandals. As each piece of his island clothing fell to the hotel floor, he became and started feeling more like himself.

On the way to the excessively lavish bedroom, Richard left behind his guilt for making Aidan cheat on the one he was still with. That man was Dean; while Dean's feelings for Aidan might be genuine, Richard had lost all respect for the man himself.

Aidan lay naked on his side, chin propped up with one hand, in the center of the huge bed.

"I couldn't let you leave without," Aidan swallowed back his fear and doubts, "without reminding you what's waiting here for you—should you choose it. Yes, I am more than this…more than sex. And so are you, Richard. But right now, it's all we have. Back in London—back in your loft—our bodies connected. You made my body sing," he confessed. "And I want to do that again."

Richard stared at him for a long time, lying there so alluringly. The attraction Aidan had on his body was undeniable; his throat felt dry and his skin feverishly on edge. He'd not forgotten how delectable the man had been, naked, but in none of his memories was he displayed like this. Waiting for him.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered.

Not joining him on the bed just yet, his hands travelled to his own waist to unbutton and then shrug off his shorts. All the time he didn't pull his eyes away from Aidan, like a promise in waiting.

"I think I'm going to miss that flight."

Then Richard sat down next to Aidan. The sheets felt cool under his skin. He ran a hand through his hair, and twisted to lean down for a kiss.

Richard's piercing blue eyes were like an inescapable spotlight, but Aidan couldn't deny the look of desire he saw there. What would he have done if, after all this—all his hard work and schooling and spending half his life _dreaming_ of this man and this moment—Richard just hadn't found him attractive? Aidan had always thought of himself as very ordinary. Richard, on the other hand, was an ethereal creature. A god.

"I won't let you miss your flight," Aidan smiled into his kiss. "But I will definitely have to save a few in-bed Bucket List items for when you come back."

"Make it a good and proper list," Richard breathed, "I'll see what I can do about fulfilling it." The kiss soon grew intoxicating and demanding for more. From cupping his chin, he crawled up on the bed and soon sat down straddling this man with the mesmerizing smile. "Are you really sure?" he asked again, tentatively. Aidan was still connected to someone else. He didn't want him to regret this, just because they couldn't wait a week.

Nonetheless his fingers started tracing naked skin and twirled through the tuft of hair splayed on Aidan's chest. "You look so much better now than in the suit. Once you work for me, I forbid you from wearing suits on a regular day. They might be Ethan's, but they're not _you_. You should have some days where you work in the IT department. And there should be a desk. I'll have the cameras switch off right before I'd come in, and you'd know it was me."

Hearing Richard talk about the future so optimistically with such surety cemented any doubts Aidan might have been harboring about proceeding.

"Richard," he breathed into the older man's ear, inhaling Richard's intoxicating cologne. "I have wanted you since I was a teenager. Nothing has changed in that regard. I promise you." And if there was any doubt, Richard could certainly feel Aidan's desire pressing insistently against his thigh. "Everything I've done since I was fifteen years old has been done with the sole purpose of getting closer to you."

"You should stop saying that today," Richard chuckled. It made him too aware of a lot of things, not the least of which being the dysfunctional way in which they got to know each other. "You'll have plenty of time for that later. Lie back, and let me. I've been waiting a few months to have you like this."

He caught Aidan in another kiss that soon dissolved into pecks and nips at his collarbone, then his chest. His right hand sought out Aidan distractedly. When he had it, he placed it against the hem of his boxers. But then he didn't give him the time to do anything about it, when he shifted and started crawling further down on him. "I think I still owe you something, don't I?"

Richard's mouth hovered only an inch above its intended target when he looked up.

"I don't want to stop saying it. It's true, and you need to know it. I long for the day when you look at me with as much trust as you do desire," Aidan said softly. 

"That's a high bar you set." Richard pushed his erection up to press against his stomach and lapped a line up from his balls.

"You—" Aidan began, but quickly lost the ability to form coherent sentences as Richard used his talented mouth on him. Instead, his mind flew other questions—like wondering what type of relationships, if any, Richard had maintained. Was he even capable of it—or interested in one for that matter? As his legs shook with the force of his arousal, he tried to envision what it might be like sharing a bed with Richard Armitage on a permanent basis. Would he allow him to be that close to him? Or would Aidan be some dirty little secret?

Richard above him thought nothing of it. His eyes occasionally opened to look up at Aidan's responses, especially whenever he made a sound that went straight to his gut. Other than that, he focused on the responses he was given. As soon as Aidan's legs started to look for purchase to push up his hips, he knew he was on the right track.

Pouring everything he got into it, one hand wrapped around the base while the other started pushing off the last piece of clothing. It made balancing himself awkward, though he made it work.

But Richard wasn't going to continue until Aidan could go no further. As soon as he had him properly flushed, he pulled off and fully removed his boxers.

"Come on," he whispered hotly, "Your turn." And over he flipped them.

Aidan wouldn't begin to presume anything about Richard—not anymore—but he was terribly glad to have the tables turned.

"I've been dying to get my mouth on you again," he breathed, with a look akin to adoration in his eyes. "I wasn't at my best…when you had me in your loft. "Let me," he licked his lips, "just _let me._ " he finished, leaning eagerly into the task of taking Richard's formidable cock into his mouth. Hollowing his cheeks, he worked the length with artistry and power, combined with a worshipful gentleness. 

He pulled off with a wet plop. "So delicious, Richard," he told him, and was back to it, keyboard-strengthened fingers massage Richard's balls and perineum.

And oh, Aidan wasn't lying. While the setting of their previous trysts had been exciting enough for Richard to be sensitive enough for it either way, this time was different. Aidan worked him like a master and Richard would be lying if he didn't want it again and again.

The one week away from this in London was going to be dreadful.

His head fell back and he gasped when Aidan took him in whole. "Christ, Aidan!" he looked down at the mop of hair between his jerking legs. "If you're anything like this when you—"

He didn't finish the embarrassing end of that sentence, but he did lead the hand further down to linger at the rim.

"When I what?" Aidan drew away, smiling brightly and wiping his face with the back of his hand. He was secretly glad Richard was allowing him to touch him _there._ He'd gone into this believe that Richard was too austere and in control to allow another man so close to such a vulnerable spot. Aidan drew his fingers through some of the pooling saliva he'd generated and gently circled Richard's furled sphincter. "You mean, when I'm _down here?_ " he wondered, punctuating the question with a hint of finger penetration.

Richard immediately spread his legs wider to give him full access, as his back came off the bed. "There. Right," he swallowed around a breath, "there."

It was a well kept secret. Nobody who knew him would be able to guess, and certainly nobody dared to. But because he didn't normally indulge others when they expressed an interest in being on the giving end, dating back from his student years—it did mean that when he did choose to do so, Richard was far more sensitive to the stimulation.

With Aidan, he wanted it perhaps less than he wanted him to trust him, because he wasn't entirely ready, but that didn't mean he wasn't warming up to a choice made of logic very quickly. Richard wet his lips. He said in what he hoped was a seductive voice, "Would you like to?"

"To _fuck_ you? To fuck _you?_ " Aidan couldn't believe his ears. "Richard, I would. Very much. But…have you done it before? With a man like that?" Aidan wasn't trying to pry. But if Richard were a virgin in that regard, he wanted far more than 45 minutes with him.

"Fuck me," Richard said. "I've got experience. Not much, and it's been long, but you won't break me. Though you're welcome to try."

Never in a million years had Aidan expected this little turn of events. With Dean, he'd often topped; they were flexible like that. But, he never expected alpha-male-scary-as-shit Richard Armitage to be willing to bottom for anyone. And, while he certainly relished the notion of being ravaged by his idol, there was a certain satisfaction in being allowed to do this. Perhaps Richard did trust him after all.

"We don't have much time, Richard," Aidan told him. "Did you happen to bring any lube with you?"

If Richard still managed to catch that plane, and it was a _big_ if, he would take a flight of eight hours, one transfer, with the scent of sex still on him. It both horrified him and made it special. The world would know. Besides, it wasn't like he was going to wear one of his expensive suits without taking a shower first.

Or maybe he would.

"Suitcase, inside pocket." Of course said suitcase was currently in the living room, as he'd been packing and had given up on needing it the longer the minutes ticked by and Aidan hadn't shown up.

There was no patient waiting. As soon as Aidan's touch and tongue left him, the loss was immediately lessened by wrapping his own hand around his cock. He moved his fist leisurely, his eyes closed.

 _Richard had brought lube with him._ Aidan floated on a cloud towards the suitcase. _He had planned on this tryst the entire time._ He could barely feel his feet touching the floor, nor his hand on the small bottle. All he could feel was the desire to get Richard's warm skin under his hands and into his mouth as soon as possible. His cock gave an appreciative lurch at the idea, yanking him back towards the software magnate waiting for him on the bed.

"This may be a little cold," he warned the older man, slipping onto the bed next to his hip, as he slicked up his long fingers on his left hand. Knowing he had little time to waste, he immediately returned to the tight, hot muscle, and his strong fingers circled the opening, willing Richard to allow him access. When the opening finally relaxed, which took less time than Aidan anticipated, he tentatively slipped a finger inside the scorching channel, a soothing hand on Richard's hip and his eyes rose to Richard's face asking silent permission.

A deep rumble sounded from Richard's throat. "I can handle one, don't look at me like that." His voice was beginning to fray into thin strands, as if he couldn't hold himself together. "You'd better move soon, or I'm going to work myself around you." The cool warmed up quick enough—Richard hated cold lube, so he always went for the warming ones—leaving a more than comfortable heat to settle in his loins. All of that big talk aside, Richard still felt and looked exposed.

"You like messing me up enough to be a disgrace on my flight home, don't you?" Richard's eyes were closed when he asked it. "Put your lips around me again."

"A little humility suits you," Aidan huffed, kissing the skin of his hip, around to his crotch. "I rather like you like this." He took Richard in his mouth again, the pressure of his questing tongue keeping him distracted as Aidan slipped a second, then a third finger into his hole—circling and scissoring them.

At last he, swiveled his hand _just so,_ allowing all three of his fingers to rub over Richard's prostate. He raised his eyebrows at Richard's look of surprise. He pulled off Richard's dick. "I am going to enjoy seeing you come undone, Richard Armitage. Keep touching yourself. I could watch you do that all day." He returned to finger-fucking his former boss. His eyes were torn between watching Richard jack himself and the look of torn pleasure on Richard's face.

"Oh, do you n-"

The twist of Aidan's hand made quick work of having him show humility. He chewed on his lip, hands tangling in Aidan's hair when they weren't gripping his shoulders or trying to pull him further up, without succeeding. By now the burn inside him felt good. Every time Aidan moved his skillful fingers inside him, Richard felt them anew, but it was that particular twist that had him really keening.

All sense of decency lost, his hand flew back to his own cock and started rubbing it. There was no stress behind it; Richard rather played with himself instead of wanting to get off. Though he wanted to. "If you were watching, I'd do this all day for you," he said with a hint of Richard's ruin kicking in. "Wouldn't you love that? There are so many things I want to do with you, Aidan. Oh. No, please, don't stop." A pause. "Ah. God, the things…Would you like it if I told you that right now, I want you to make me come and not stop when I do, no matter what how I'd beg it of you?"

"I'd tell you we don't have enough time, love," Aidan said sympathetically. "But I will certainly make the best of what we have. How do you want me?" he asked. "From behind? Or like this?" he slid both hands beneath Richard's thighs, edging himself between them. 

The hand that brushed over Aidan's cheek was like an anchor grabbing for solid ground. Just like that, Richard wasn't proud and mighty. He was honest. "Like this. I don't do from behind. I'd do you, if you wanted me to, but this way I can see you." For anything more than him on his back would require more trust than he currently harbored. His breath quivered. "But don't stop here. Look at me. I want you, Aidan."

 _I want you, Aidan._ Aidan had waited nearly 15 years to hear those words falling from Richard's lips.

Still conflicted, yet euphoric, Aidan's extra adrenaline made lifting and securing Richard's legs around his waist much easier than it normally would have been, given the difference in their physiques. Aidan gave Richard one more questioning, passionate look before lining himself up and seating himself inside the literal man of his dreams.

He felt like he was having some sort of out-of-body experience. A very real part of him was here, _fucking_ , not being fucked by, Richard Armitage. Another part, was floating, disembodied and watching critically from a distance. The clock on the wall reminded him to step it up, and he quickly sought to align himself with Richard's elusive prostate and pleasure him as he thrusted, slowly but with surety.

"Richard," he locked gazed with his life-long idol, eyes glazing with tears. "Am I really here, doing this?"

Even the times he got nowhere close to making Richard see stars, Richard loved how they moved together. When there would be time, he'd lie Aidan down on the bed and focus on those sensations alone; the slow friction of Aidan moving in and out, forceful at times and indescribably slow at others. Kisses shared between thrusts that missed their target more often than not. And the knowledge that whenever he opened his eyes, he'd see the other. Richard was no hopeless romantic, though it took him no effort to watch as Aidan's eyes fluttered and he moved with determination and appreciate the sight.

And when he _did_ see stars, all chains holding him back to dignity were severed. Richard pulled him down for a searing kiss, breathed hard in his chest, and begged for more without saying so. He pushed Aidan's chest away with one hand, separating them effectively, and when Aidan didn't seem to understand, Richard hooked one leg over the man's shoulder.

"Try and break me," he pleaded, "I want to feel you in me for a week, because I don't know how else I'm going to cope." They would serve as a blissful reminder during stiff board meetings.

Richard's desperate tone caused an odd reaction in Aidan. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, what anyone would consider as an aggressive lover. Passionate, yes, that he could do. Richard wanted it, though, and by God, Aidan was going to deliver. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, and he found the purchase to thrust harder and more accurately than before. He knew his fingers were bruising Richard's pale skin. He liked the notion that Richard would see those circles when he got in and out of the shower all week. 

Surprisingly, it wasn't hard at all for Aidan to muster up some aggression, thinking about Richard yanking him around by his arm like he was a misbehaving child; or nearly breaking his hand; or so callously pushing the button on the shock collar—the contact burns from which took weeks to heal properly; or coming back into his life just as things were finally reaching a state of normalcy and turning it upside down with his declaration.

He slammed into the bigger man in retribution for those three terror-filled days, when he felt at any moment he might die. He knew when he was punching Richard's prostate relentlessly that it was only a matter of time before his former employer lost control.

While the message had been clear— _break me_ —Richard had not meant for Aidan to give it his all to the point of anger and frustration and intended discomfort. Perhaps he hadn't thought him capable of such a thing, or perhaps he just wasn't thinking, but now that he received the brunt of everything he'd pent up in the man, he was beginning to regret it. "Aidan," he gasped, "Stop. Stop." And it wasn't a plea coated in desire, like he didn't mean it. The assault of pain and pleasure was tilting too much towards pain.

Aidan had every right to do this to him, but that didn't mean he was going to take it, well, lying down.

Richard's protests brought him back to himself. Uncertainly, his hips stuttered and stopped. "I-I'm sorry, Richard. I got a bit…into it," he smiled guiltily. "Are you all right?"

Richard needed a moment to catch his breath. He stared up at him, swallowed, and finally calmed himself down. The pain subsided soon enough because of the preparation he'd been through, but still he whispered, "Hold on a minute." Time was running out on them as he regained his calm. He hated how the seconds slipped from their grasp. The ticking of the clock was almost audible.

He nodded. "Sorry. All right."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Aidan began undulating his hips, more gently this time. "It's the last thing I want to do, Richard. I guess I have some anger I haven't quite wrapped my head around." A trickle of perspiration ran from beneath his hair, but his eyes had lost their dangerous glint.

Richard simply let his head tip back. Soon enough, his expression smoothed down and less than ten seconds later, he was visibly falling out of breath again. "Like this," he licked his dry lips, "This is good." He knew Aidan probably didn't mean it the way he had lost his restraints there, so he didn't bring it up again. "Kiss me."

Never had a command sounded less like one.

"Yes," Aidan agreed readily, because he felt he could do so for hours on end. He hoped someday to test that theory. His height kept him from being able to reach Richard's lips with the tenacity he would have enjoyed, but he was still able to pepper Richard's face and lips with kisses while continuing to angle his arousal into Richard's pleasure center. The smell of sex was heavy in the electric air, and Aidan wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out.

Richard's hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him as close as he could, before they dropped to the sheets and curled fistfuls into his palms. Once, twice more he convulsed when Aidan struck his core. After that, he was a wreck. It was beyond vexing how he couldn't decide on the pace, used to it as he was. He wished he could turn them around, but that was something they had neither the time for, nor he the experience. Instead he was left at Aidan's mercy. "Faster," he urged, "Come on. I'm, ah, I'll be okay."

Just when he was sure his muscles couldn't stretch and tense any further, Richard suddenly crashed their mouths hotly to muffle the sound, as hips jerked and he came between them.

Richard's internal muscles tensed around his cock as he came, and that was enough to pull Aidan into the abyss shortly behind him. Aidan lay his damp chest against Richard as he fought to bring his breathing under control, the older man's cum cooling between them on the planes of Richard's stomach. Aidan raised a trembling hand to cup Richard's face and he kissed him properly this time.

"We still have time," Aidan smoothed unruly dark hair away from Richard's forehead, "to get you to your plane."

An accidental hand brushing Richard's side made him cringe from the tickle and chuckle breathlessly at the same time. He looked up and took in Aidan, breathless and with fully blown eyes. He looked thoroughly fucked. If he played his cards right, he realized, he would be seeing this look more often soon. "I don't care about the plane, Aidan."

"Richard Crispin Armitage," Aidan raised his eyebrows mockingly at Richard's adorable middle name. "Software mogul, business acumen giant and," he cleared his throat, "suspected criminal. Are you saying you are going to _miss_ your plane?" Aidan slid a teasing hand down to toy with the thatch of hair above Richard's cock.

With the skin sensitive enough to send shivers rippling up and down Richard's spine, he sucked in a breath. "I'm not saying I want to miss it. But I'm not getting up from this bed for at least another ten minutes, so help me. You think you can still get me to the airport if I use up a little more of that time?"

His eyes followed the curves and sharp angles of Aidan down to where his hand disappeared out of his sight. "You're not really going to give me that ride though, are you? "

"Of course I am," Aidan told him. "My convertible's out in the parking lot. "I'm happy to take you there. Not happy to see you go, though,"" he lamented. "Let's get you a towel," he said, starting to get up.

Richard tugged him back for a last, lazy kiss. He wasn't eager to see Aidan leave the bed. In the ideal situation, they could just lie there and wait for it to be time for dinner, then go out to a perfect location—Richard would pay—and return to this same, tousled bed, to do it all again. And slower this time. Though, if he reasoned with himself, he had already gotten so much that asking for more was almost ungrateful.

When Aidan pulled out, he grimaced.

All of a sudden he was glad he didn't have to come back to this unmade bed. Seed trickled down his thigh when he moved.

"Your convertible, huh?" he tried to make conversation while he watched Aidan walk around, "What other extravagant things have you been buying for yourself?"

Aidan returned rapidly with a warm, wet washcloth and expediently took care of Richard. He was relieved there was no blood. He had been unnecessarily rough. "It's a convertible. Didn't say it was an expensive one. Around here, expensive cars don't impress. Practical is the way to go. It's a VW bug," he admitted. He returned to the bathroom and cleaned himself up quickly.

When he came back out, he quickly slipped into his boxers and suit pants, eye on the clock. Then, he handed Richard his clothing without a word.

"Have it shipped," Richard said on a whim. Seeing Aidan riding around in that in London would be sweet and, somehow, just his thing. "Unless it's a ghastly thing. Hold on, let me repeat that once you've given me a ride in it." He was intent on keeping talking. They probably wouldn't be for a week. He still couldn't believe Aidan was going to give up everything he built up here for a life in the city with him. He might keep insisting Richard was some sort of teen idol for him, and there was such gentleness in the way he cleaned him up, but life in Hawaii seemed to make him happy.

What if he changed his mind?

Naturally, those thoughts only made Richard more reluctant to leave, so he took his time getting into his clothes. He'd change into a proper suit once he got to Bombay.

He realized he'd started staring at Aidan during his reversed striptease and quickly blinked.

Aidan bit his lip, eyes locked with Richard. "The steering wheel's on the wrong side," he said of the car. "Took me a devil of a time learning to drive on the wrong side of the road." He buttoned up his dress shirt with trembling hands, then felt his pants pocket for his keys. "Are you all set?"

Richard's mind froze at the adorable look that crossed Aidan's features. He didn't say manly things like _you're so goddamn cute_. But he could think it.

"I can't find my sock."

Which he'd conveniently kicked under the bed when Aidan wasn't looking.

Aidan smiled, "You aren't quite the ninja you think you are," and fished the sock out from under the bed. He knelt in front of Richard and encouraged the older man to slip his foot into it.

"No, but I like seeing you on your knees in front of me," Richard tilted his head with amusement. He instantly pulled him up and on top of him on the bed, and a quick roll had Aidan under him. "Or under me. I think I just like seeing you."

He let his lips graze the other's.

Aidan was hard the second he felt Richard's weight on top of him. "No fair," he whispered. "No fair," and he took advantage of the lip-lock, wrapping one leg around Richard's waist and deepening the kiss, tongue exploring and hands mapping.

Richard instantaneously pressed him down and let his mouth travel to the nape of Aidan's neck, before his tongue darted out lightly over sensitive lips, before kissing him hard. Soon his hips had wriggled the other leg to the side and he rolled down.

When he pulled away, his lips were swollen and his breath ragged. "If you don't get me out of here this instant, you'll not leave this room all night."

"You can't imagine how badly I'd like you to miss that plane," Aidan told him, warm breath gusting over his ear. "But we both have things we need to take care of. And you're coming back—right?"

"No doubt about it," Richard breathed, "If you think I'm not going to think of how this could have ended all week, there's a lot about me you'll need to learn." Even for a booty call; if it was Aidan, he would fly to Hawaii without hesitation. With reluctance he sat up and shifted the man on top of him until he was astride him. He leaned forward and whispered, "Imagine all the things I would have done to you, and tell me when I return."

Quick as that, he had them on their feet. "Come on." With his erection obvious, he was going to look up a bathroom first thing after getting checked in, if it hadn't gone by then. But Aidan was going to bring him; he didn't stand much chance.

Aidan was both frustrated and amused by their mutual arousal. "At least we have two bags to carry," he smiled. He put on his suit jacket and handed Richard his carry-on case. "C'mon." He led Richard out into the parking lot, where, true to his word, a dark blue VW bug was parked. Aidan put both bags in the trunk and they got into the car. "I have some ideas for when you return. Things we can do; things I can show you here in Lahaina. It's a beautiful place. Heaven on earth," he assured Richard, as they drove out of the parking lot.

"Are you going to take me camping?" Richard pulled a face. He really wasn't into camping. He hated the bugs and the hard ground under his bed. Apparently that's what a lot of tourists coming to Hawaii loved to do; get out into the wild. He thought Aidan seemed like the type. "What have you been doing these months, really? If we're anything alike, I doubt you can stay away from your laptop."

He paused.

"I've had the room you stayed in disassembled."

Aidan didn't like the reminder of his time in Richard's loft, but he appreciated the gesture. "Thank you, Richard," he said softly. "And no, I wouldn't take you camping. Despite its beauty, nature and I have never gotten along famously, although I do enjoy looking at it. I have been volunteering," he told his former boss. "There's a number of retirement communities here on the island. I go in regularly and help the seniors with technology. Mostly to stay in touch with their families. Most of them have families far away. Tears formed in his eyes as he said this, and he wiped them away absently with the back of his hand. "It brings them such joy to talk to their children and grandchildren," he explained. "And you're right. It's hard for me _not_ to be around computers."

The idea of someone who loved to search for holes in security to be volunteering sounded, to Richard, as outlandish as it was a strange but welcome mix. "You didn't teach them how to get into other people's mail accounts, now did you?" Richard teased lightly, though really, "That's sweet. You're sure you want to go from that to being on my level, in my company? It's a dog-eat-dog world there, you know."

Part of Richard wanted to take him to London, keep him safe, and keep him very much away from his line of work. He doubted he'd have much luck with that. "The door to the room has been removed. I made it into a library. I've actually fallen asleep there a few times. It does have a great view."

He wasn't going to tell how the first time, he'd fallen asleep with the thought of Aidan on his mind, but Aidan could deduct from the sadness that crossed his eyes that something of the sort had happened. Richard pulled back a smile. "Can I tell you how much I want to kiss you right now?"

"I'm afraid if you did I might wrap this car around a palm tree," Aidan smiled, eyes on the road. "The safe room, I'm sure, makes an excellent library. The light is amazing. I did some reading there too, you know," he reminded Richard. "There's the airport," he pointed ahead, where the giant steel and glass building jutted up amidst a sea of green and smaller buildings. "And it looks like you're still on time."

Richard's smile fell. "Right." He looked out at the scenery, because looking at Aidan suddenly made it too real. They'd only had hours together. It was too short. "Do you, ah, would you like me to tell someone about you? Maybe Adam, or your family?" Which would cement his own hopes for Aidan returning as collateral. "Should I call you to let you know what time I'll arrive, and when?" At least part of the perks of having Armitage International was that plane tickets were easy to acquire on short notice. "You don't have to walk in with me. I always found saying goodbye before customs to be awkward, and I can still kiss you decently without worrying about people's rumors here."

Aidan pulled up in front of the large glass doors to drop Richard off. Once the car was in park, he pulled out his wallet and retrieved a business card with Ethan Mills' name on it. "E-mail me here, or call my cell. _Please_ don't pretend to be Dean again," he said, with a little more sternness than he should have. "No need to contact my family or friends back in the U.K. If I come back with you, I can do so myself. If I don't—well, I can figure something out on my own, right?"

He put a warm hand on Richard's cheek. "Please come back, Richard. If, by the end of next week, we decide we aren't meant to be, we can at least say we tried. I don't want to spend my life not knowing. Speculation and fantasizing have ruled my life for far too long." He leaned over and chastely pressed his lips to Richard. "I want to be able to tell you 'I love you,'" he confessed, "but I'm not quite there yet. I want to love you," he smiled. "Can you live with that?"

The chaste kiss was captured and stretched out, though Richard refrained from deepening it. He made sure to remember the way their lips touched. "I don't expect you to," he shook his head and traced Aidan's nose with his index finger, before it tipped his lips and trailed along the bottom of it. Because really, having Aidan not shoving him away and calling the authorities was already a blessing. "If you ever want to tell me, I already did something right."

The business card was stored securely in his pocket. Though, because Richard had enough insecurities to think he might lose the card somewhere on the flight home, he pulled out his phone and committed the information to his address book.

The phone moved up and soundlessly snapped a quick picture.

"I really have to go now. No more pretending to be Dean. Got it." Richard opened the door, pushed out of his seat, and got out of the car. He leaned back once to give Aidan a searing kiss. "Be there and I promise you, I'll give you the world." Then, because he already felt a lump in his throat, he took his other suitcase quickly and started for the sliding doors.

Aidan found Richard snapping his photo to be downright adorable. He didn't try to stop his former employer again, because he was afraid if he acted on what his over-sensitized body was telling him to do, he'd end up dragging Richard back to the hotel. He had to let Richard go, and he had to go home and tell Dean what was going to happen. It wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to. Dean had always told him that if his dream came true that he had to go for it—but in his heart, neither of them ever really thought it might.

When Richard looked back one final time before turning into the terminal, Aidan raised his hand and waved goodbye with a smile. _I am batshit crazy,_ he thought, all the while.


	10. James Wants Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James begins his revenge. He wants Aidan to suffer, and he knows just how to go about that. He won't stop until he's taken everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aidan Turner and Dean O’Gorman written by ThornyHedge
> 
> James Nesbitt written by BlueMonkey
> 
> \-------

Dean smiled to himself as he rang out his last customers of the day—a young married couple on holiday who’d taken a two-hour surfing lesson with him. They were so in love, and laughed together so easily. He longed for Aidan so much as he watched the young bride’s luminous dark eyes lock with her lover’s and cling like Dean was nowhere in the vicinity. He couldn’t wait to get home, take Aidan out for a long, romantic meal, then take him home and remind him how much he loved him.

Dean walked to the front door of the shop, locking it and turning off the neon “open” sign next to the door. He closed out his register and carried the cash drawer into the back room, tossing it into the safe. He wasn’t taking the time to count money today. He had more important things to do. He sat at his desk for a few minutes to organize some paperwork before he left for the day. 

He thought he heard a noise from the shop. “Is someone out there?” he called. When no one answered, he bent back to his billing, his mind mapping the caramel expanse of Aidan’s back as he did so. Ten minutes later, he rose to go home, picking up the keys to his Jeep with a wistful smile. As he was heading towards the back door, he heard another shuffling noise from inside the surf shop. On nice days, he often kept the front door open. It wasn’t unusual for a neighborhood stray dog or a bird to find their way inside. He carried a gun regularly now, when he wasn’t in the water, and was reassured by its presence at the small of his back.

When Dean walked from the back room out into the shop, he felt a shift in the air. Before he could turn to investigate, something hard hit him between his shoulder blades. He felt a white hot pain and heard a dull cracking sound. The blow knocked the wind out of him and he fell forward onto the wooden floor next to the front counter. 

He raised one arm to reach behind him for his gun, but the pain the action caused in his mid-back prevented it. Instead, he haltingly rolled himself onto his side and raised his head to face his attacker. James Nesbitt loomed over him, holding an aluminum baseball bat. 

“J-James?” he gasped. “You’re alive. I-I can’t believe it.”

The obviously incensed Irishman didn’t speak. Without hesitation, he raised the bat over his head and hit Dean again. The heavy blow knocked Dean’s protectively raised left arm out of the way, breaking one of the bones in his forearm. A third blow, aimed directly at Dean’s exposed head, found its mark—and Dean knew no more.

\-------

When Dean's eyes finally opened, his hands and jaw scraped across rough cement flooring. The gray surface was warm to the touch—no doubt from the sun. If he'd been outside, his exposed skin would have been blistered from the long exposure.

"Finally waking up, are we?" came a familiar voice behind him.

Dean's hands were tied in front of his chest, and he lay flat on the ground like a crawling insect. Everything about him felt equally parched. 

"I do wonder," James said, "how you got him to come back to you. You fucked him and then you sold him out to Armitage. I'm beginning to see a pattern here. Don't worry though, I learn from mistakes made. But I _am_ curious."

Dean’s left arm throbbed in pain due to being trapped under his body, but rolling to the side to try to alleviate the pain awakened a worse pain in his mid-back. Dean swallowed what little saliva he could and croaked out, “A bat, James? You beat me with a fucking bat?” His voice wasn’t nearly as powerful as he would have hoped. “And what do you mean—how I got him to come back to me? Aidan and I are friends, if nothing else,” he grimaced as dizziness swept over him. “I never intended for him to be hurt. I was stupid. Just like you’re being stupid now.”

"Oh, please," James scowled. Seated in his comfortable chair in the otherwise silent cabin, he acted as if Dean wasn't on the ground, writhing in pain. "Friends. Don't make me laugh. So you're fully okay with him having slept with Armitage?"

“Not as okay as _he_ is,” Dean sighed, trying to find a comfortable position, but failing. “He’s wanted Richard since he was a teenager. You remember what it’s like to have dreams, don’t you, James?” When James didn’t answer, he went on. “Why am I here? Are you going to kill me? If so, make it quick. My back fucking hurts. I think you broke something in there.”

A metal object scraped along the concrete, the sound of it jarring and drowning out Dean's last words. James wasn't interested in pleas. "You don't fool me, Dean. Do you think I haven't noticed your responses, every time we talked about Aidan. We used to sleep together, remember? I'm not stupid. It wasn't easy tracing you here, but I must admit, with Aidan's faults still bare in the system, Armitage did most of the work for me, you must know. I imagine he's on a plane here right now, if he's not so already. Where exactly did you say Aidan was going?"

The metal jammed into the concrete when Dean didn’t answer. James' voice hardened. "I want my money, Dean, but I don't want it from you. You're going to lie there until Aidan does whatever I demand of him. So if your back hurts, get over it."

“R-Richard’s on Maui?” Dean startled. Irrationally, the idea of Richard finding Aidan scared him much more than the situation he now found himself in. But he wasn’t about to give James the satisfaction of talking to him about his relationship with Aidan. “W-what are you asking Aidan to do? James, I know I’m not in a position to beg—but I will. Don’t hurt him. _We’re_ the bad guys here, not him. I know you know that.”

"I have been fucking declared dead!" A storm awoke just outside Dean's perimeter, "He took you away from me, you took my money, and, mark my words, Armitage is going to take him from you. Everyone's had their share until it was snatched away. What do I get?! I want him to suffer, Dean. Because if he does, then you do, and then that conniving bastard will. And I want my fucking money. What'd you do with my share, eh? The part that _I_ earned?"

James spat on the floor. "Don't think you can talk your way out of this. You won't." By the sound of it, his fingers pressed in a few keys. It took a moment before realization dawned that it was on Dean's phone. "Smile, bastard," he said, snapping a photo.

"Come on, Aidan. Ball's on your turf." James sent the photo off to Aidan.

“ _You fucked up,_ James,” Dean reminded him. “You gave our customer your own goddamn bank account number instead of taking the time to set one up off-shore. That money’s long gone. I’m sure Armitage found a way to funnel it out. I don’t have _your_ money. I have my share. And, to the rest of the world, Dean O’Gorman’s dead too,” he felt out of breath so he took a moment to calm himself. “If it’s money you’re after, Aidan will come through. We still have most of that million pounds in the bank.”

Dean groaned as he rolled onto his back and found it hurt a great deal. “I don’t get you. You _introduced_ me to Aidan, James. ‘You have to meet my mate, Aidan,’ you told me. ‘He’s perfect for you.’ By all accounts, I should be beating _you_ up, fucker.”

James brought the bat down right next to Dean's bare foot. An inch to his left would have been the end of Dean's confident gait until a long recovery fixed that. "Well, I couldn't have predicted you two would screw me over so royally, now could I? Aidan kept going on and on about Armitage. It was getting annoying. Thanks for shutting _that_ up for a while, I guess. I want everything, Dean. Everything you've got left, and everything he has. Though he's not very fast in responding to his messages, I'd say. Perhaps I should send the lad another reminder."

The stomp in the gut was recorded on video and the consequent response sent off. Dean drifted in and out of consciousness while they waited.

\------

Aidan spent the entire ride home trying to figure out how the hell to explain the situation to Dean without freaking him right the fuck out. If he’d known Richard was on Maui, the blond would have wanted to pull up stakes and run. Aidan drove past _Little Kahuna_ surf shop and saw it was closed.

Dean’s Jeep wasn’t in their driveway when he got home, so he took the opportunity to take a shower and get the smell of sex with Richard off of him. He put his suit into a bag for the dry cleaner. By six o’clock, Dean still hadn’t come home. It wasn’t unusual for Dean to get caught up in chatting with a customer or neighbor, or to pick up groceries on his way home… but they had made plans for tonight. Steak. And, finally, Aidan was hungry for it. His stomach growled loudly as if in confirmation.

_Where are you, Dean?_ he asked into the silence of the townhouse. Out of desperation, he jogged out to his car and grabbed his cell phone from the center console. He had two missed messages. 

“Fuck me,” he swore, punching a few buttons. Both were from Dean. The first was a photo attachment, which he opened with a smile. Dean often sent him photos of neat spots on the island he’d hoped they could check out together. But the photo wasn’t of a tourist attraction. It was a photo of Dean, arms tied over his chest and blood caked on his temple. His left arm was purple and swollen. There was no message attached. 

With dread, he clicked on the second attachment—a movie clip. He watched as a foot stomped down on Dean’s unprotected mid-section and the blond cried out in pain as he curled in on himself. Every movement he made seemed to cause him agony. He’d never seen Dean in pain and it sent icy tendrils of fear through him. 

Shaking hands dialed. “Who _is_ this?” he asked when the unknown assailant answered Dean’s phone without so much as a hello.

"Aidan!" rang the cheerful—mockingly so—voice on the other end of the line. "How nice of you to call. I was beginning to wonder about you, since I sent those darling pictures of Dean and you didn't seem to respond. But I'm glad we're on the same page at last."

James put the phone next to Dean's mouth, and put a hand in front of it, so the only thing transmitting were muffled sounds and pained harsh breaths. Dean didn’t want to give James the satisfaction of crying out, but James nudged his broken arm with his foot until he let out a pained whimper and a curse.

"You recognize that, don't you?” James asked Aidan. “I was thinking, since it was so nice of you to hold onto my money for me, I might give him back to you. Would you like that?"

The terror Aidan was feeling doubled. James had Dean, and he was hell-bent on revenge. Dean already appeared to be badly hurt. James must have followed Richard over from the U.K.

Aidan felt like his lungs were literally seizing, so he took a long, slow deep breath to steady his voice. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” he told his former friend. “What are your demands?”

"What is left of my money," James' voice turned stone cold, "And what's left of Dean's. And, I dare say, you should be happy that now that Armitage is going to be back in your life—oh, if you didn't know that, though I get this idea that you already do, well, consider yourself informed now—I am not asking you for more than that. Every hour you lose paying me is going to cost your dear Dean a broken bone, and more if he's not so lucky."

The line paused with the static of an old line barely in use. James got up from his seat and raised an eyebrow at Dean's disposition, before he gagged him with a strip of duct tape.

" _I_ think he's worth the money. Between you and me, I can't deny he's a good fuck."

“I'll do whatever you ask of me, James,” Aidan said agreeably, but maybe a bit too quickly. “But I’m sorry to tell you that Dean and I don’t have _your_ money. Whatever money you may have been paid back in London—it’s gone. We have what Dean was paid for his part in the transaction. Dean and I have just over 750 thousand pounds in the bank. Just tell me where to wire the money and I’ll do it right away. T-there’s no need for any more violence,” he added. “I’m following your orders to the letter.”

Not hearing anymore sounds from Dean on the other end of the line, Aidan waited for instructions with bated breath.

After a long enough silence to get him sweating, James suddenly cackled. "Oh, nice try," said he. "You're lying though. Where's my part of the money? There's no way you could have squandered that much money in so short a time. I've seen where you live. Remember, a snap of a bat and Dean can be crippled for life. Do not test me, Aidan."

“Dean opened a business,” Aidan told him, “as you probably already know. We bought vehicles, and put a hefty down-payment on our home. Those things aren’t cheap,” he tried to be logical, but his fear and concern over Dean were overriding it. “I understand you made a poor choice when you gave your customer your own bank account number three months ago for the big payout. You had to know Mr. Armitage was monitoring everyone’s bank accounts, James. He hacked that money back. You know he did. Not us. We left the country as quickly as we could, given the chance.” 

Aidan dropped his voice into a lower register. “This isn’t an auction. Dean is worth everything to me—and I will give you just that. _Everything._ But I can’t give you more than everything. That I don’t have.”

Dean could hear Aidan’s voice over the receiver in the quiet of the cabin, and his eyes filled with tears. Aidan’s implication was clear. _I can make more money, but nothing can replace Dean._ Dean turned his face away from James so the man wouldn’t see his weakness. Hearing Aidan’s voice seemed to make the pain worse instead of better.

James felt tricked. He wasn't sure whether he could believe Aidan, but his story seemed logical enough. For a moment he felt inclined to press, just because. These men had ruined his life, together with Armitage's doing. He could go nowhere, not anymore. His friends were taken from him, his family, and his right to live. And love; most of all they had betrayed him by running off together. What had happened to sticking together?

At last he nodded. "Transfer it. Right now. You'll find a e-mail in your inbox. It contains a scrambled image, with a URL. You're to go to that site, and you'll find my bank account there." He was going to remove the site and every trace back to himself, as soon as the money was in his possession. Close the account, split his belongings over a total of nine accounts, each in different countries; he was not going to make the same mistake twice.

Then he noticed Dean and chuckled. "Oh, and you're going to give me your house, cars and the surf shop as well."

Dean glared at him through his haze of pain. James literally planned to leave them with nothing. _Don't do it, Aid,_ he begged silently. _Just take the money and run. Let him kill me!_ But he knew that, unlike James, Aidan was far too tender-hearted to do something like that. 

Aidan took a look at the information James sent over. It all seemed pretty straightforward. "You're asking for a lot, James. It might take me more than an hour to accomplish it all. Can you tell me how I can go about retrieving Dean once I've done it?"

"I will tell you when we get there." James was reluctant to believe things to go this easy. He opened his laptop and casually logged in. "I'm looking at my account. 750 thousand pounds. Once you've transferred them, you're going to give me your papers and keys for the house, the cars and the shop. I will send someone who means nothing to me, so don't think you'll get your chance then."

He let his bat nudge Dean.

"You're fast, Aidan. Almost too fast for someone who's got someone else he'd rather be with."

"Make no mistake," Aidan's voice dropped dangerously. "I _do_ love Dean. You'll get your money, James," Aidan assured him, and hung up. 

He took a long, steadying breath and opened his laptop. Aidan agonized for a moment about contacting Richard. He might not have boarded his plane yet. If things got hairy, Richard could help him. But then he rationalized that Richard would rather see Dean dead, and that gave him pause. He did, however, dash off an e-mail to his former employer:

_**Richard,** _

_**While I was with you today, James Nesbitt kidnapped Dean. He's hurt. He's asking for everything I have, everything WE have, and I am prepared to give it to him. I cannot lose Dean. He is the only person in the world who really believes in me.** _

_**I'm just letting you know in case you have trouble contacting me when you return. It means things didn't go well this evening when I meet with James to retrieve Dean. I'm so scared right now I can barely type this. I have never been more scared. Even when I thought you might shoot me.** _

_**I just wanted you to know that I was anxious for your return, Richard. If I never get to talk to you again, I wanted you to know that I was really looking forward to getting to know you better.** _

He blinked, twin tears falling onto his lap, then signed the email,

_**Love,  
Aidan** _

Then, he logged into the bank account he shared with Dean and entered the information that James had provided. He had lied, a little. Transferring 750K pounds to James hurt, but it still left him and Dean with about 100K. They could move on. Dean could move on. He whimpered as he hit _send_.

Ten minutes later, the cell phone’s jarringly merry ringtone broke the silence. It was Dean's phone calling, yet again. As soon as Aidan picked up, all hope that it could still be Richard calling died.

"I believe Dean would be proud of you, Aidan, were he awake."

James tossed an empty syringe into the trash. Once, long ago, he might have been appalled at the loveless way in which he was treating his former friends. That was before they betrayed him. As he looked down at the unconscious form of a man he'd shared a bed with, he soon subdued that sentimental twinge. James disliked everything about Dean, but he hated Aidan more for taking it away.

"Be at the port at 8 with the documents. West entrance. My man will contact you when he sees you. I wouldn't try anything, Aidan. You will get Dean back only when the documents are safe."

For once, Aidan was relieved that Dean was obsessively organized. He went to the file cabinet in their at-home study and slid open the top drawer. Their lives were in that drawer, carefully organized and filed away in folders labeled with Dean's neat block printing. Aidan pulled out the TOWNHOUSE, JEEP and VW BUG folders, along with a thick folder labeled KAHUNA, which housed all the paperwork involved in Dean's business. A zipped pouch in the front of the drawer held spare keys to everything.

In the very back of the drawer, Aidan found the INSURANCE folder, and the ID folder. In it was all the paperwork pertaining to Ethan Mills and Gregory Prescott. A recent addition was two more folders—labeled Ryan Lane and Luke Anderson. Dean already had new IDs ready for them, in the event of an emergency. It took everything in Aidan's power not to curl up on the bed and cry.

There were a few briefcases in the closet. In one, he put everything James was asking for. In the other, he put the insurance and ID paperwork, his laptop, and few other items from the home he knew Dean would want—a handful of family photos and jewelry. His eyes did one last sweep of their townhouse. Even though they'd only been there a short while, he felt like he could have been happy there for the rest of his life.

A briefcase in each hand, he left his home and got into his car.

Little time was left between packing his belongings and the set time that he was to give it all up. The lonely clock in the abandoned house read seven in the evening, a few minutes more or less, as it ticked away the remaining minutes before it stopped belonging to a warm home.

Richard had not called back.

Dean lay still on the floor, somewhere Aidan did not know.

It was as if the world had stopped spinning.

James waited. He knew he wasn't going to be found here, and he'd already hired a local errand boy earlier, so things were going according to plan. It was a pity things had had to come to this. Nonetheless, a nervous tic controlled him, and his eyes kept darting to the clock and his phone. With his laptop poised on his knees, he sat slouched and decided to kill time, choosing to see how Armitage was doing.

The metropolitan office turned out to be empty, as was his apartment. He wasn't asleep either. So, James mused, he was either in his car, or he was acting on knowledge recently acquired. Hawaii wasn't going to be a safe place for James to stay much longer.

"See, Dean," James smiled to a paralyzed Dean. "Aidan knows how to obey. Armitage taught him well. I'm not heartless, you know. You'll get the chance to see how Aidan acts when he believes you're in a coma. Of course _we_ know better, don't we?"

\-------

Before he left the neighborhood, Aidan took the locked briefcase with the IDs in it to an elderly German couple he and Dean had dinner with frequently. Hans and Lena promised to hold onto the briefcase until Aidan returned for it.

In the center console of his car, in a soft leather holster, Aidan kept a small handgun. 

_I know you don't want to use it, Aidan,_ Dean had told him when he handed him the weapon, _but in the event that you have to, I'd feel much better knowing you have it._ They'd spent an afternoon shooting at soda cans in the wilderness until Dean felt Aidan was ready. Aidan hadn't picked up the gun since. Until today. The weapon slipped easily under his un-tucked white oxford.

He waited in his car at the port for thirty endless minutes, getting out at 7:55 to stand and wait by the vehicle with his briefcase in hand. He only hoped that if James were planning to kill either Dean or him, he'd make it quick.

At eight sharp, a teen guy with thick black hair, olive skin and thicker eyeliner tapped him on the shoulder.

"Aidan Turner?"

He gestured for the briefcase. It was plain that the boy didn't know what he was looking for, though he was methodical. He took pictures of the car and of Aidan, then of the folders and the keys, and opened a file to make a copy of the contents as well.

They waited in silence, not a word spoken, until the phone buzzed again. They had to be James' orders, for the boy nodded, took the keys from Aidan's hand without asking and looked around if anyone had followed.

Nobody had.

"I'm to take you to the hospital. Get in," he said.

“The h-hospital?” Aidan asked, heart leaping into his throat.

"Look, I don't know either, so don't ask me, or talk to me. You're just an easy way to earn five hundred in a night. It's much more than I usually earn, so I don't ask questions. Please just get in the car."

Aidan got into the car, letting the goth kid drive him away from the port.

The drive didn't take long. They soon pulled up short in the parking area of one of the larger hospitals, where the boy kept the engine running. "I was said to tell you to look up room 605, west wing." He looked Aidan over once and grinned, "You've been real easy money. Thanks, dude."

Then he drove off, leaving Aidan in front of the entrance of the building.

Stunned, Aidan watched the youth drive away. Then he realized why he must have been brought here. “Dean,” he breathed, and rushed inside. He took an elevator to the sixth floor and raced to room 605.

A monotonous beep filled the soundscape of the room. Hooked to a monitor, and in a bed shielded from the other men in the room by a screen, a lone bed stood in the corner. As this wasn’t the ICU, it was clear Dean’s life was not in danger. But he hadn't had surgery yet, because one of the old men croaked up as Aidan walked in, "Better not see that one until he's patched up, son. It ain't a pretty sight. Nurse says he won't be long now, so if you were smart, you’d come back tomorrow."

Dean lay on the bed, a sheet pulled up to his waist. His wrists were covered with deep red ligature marks and his left forearm was purple and disfigured—clearly broken. Dean had a small bandage covering a cut or bruise on his temple. Nothing explained why he was lying there unresponsive. 

“What’s wrong with him?!” Aidan cried out, caressing Dean’s cheek with his left hand. “Dean?” he whimpered. “Dean, please, wake up!” he begged. Dean’s blue eyes were open, but he appeared catatonic.

"Nurse?" the old man drawled out loudly. It was past visiting hours, and Aidan's response was too surprised to be here without supervision. The room smelled of antiseptic; it was the scent of death. When the nurse finally came, she instantly pulled Aidan back and closed the curtain for him.

"You should come back tomorrow, young man. This man needs his rest. He's scheduled tomorrow, eight a.m., and though we'd rather not do anything until we know what is going on, his fractures need to be set before they start healing incorrectly.

Behind the curtain, Dean lay still and staring up at the ceiling. His eyes blinked, and he breathed with regularity. But, still as a puppet, he had not given any sign to tell that he knew Aidan was there.

“No!” Aidan insisted. “Please, let me stay here with him. H-he runs a shop, and he was robbed this afternoon. He was beaten, with a bat, I think. He’s my—” _boyfriend, lover, partner,_ “—my friend,” Aidan concluded. “I won’t cause any trouble.”

"With a bat, you say?" Clearly, this was new information. "Were you there, Mr...?"

“Mills. Ethan Mills. His name is Greg Prescott,” Aidan told her. “I wasn’t there, no. But the person who did it—they sent me photos while it was happening. I just now arrived. I-is he in any pain?” Aidan wondered.

The nurse looked taken aback. "Photos?" She peered through the curtains at her newest patient. "We're not very sure if he feels pain. If you say this was done to him today... your friend here, Mr. Mills, looks like he's been in a coma for several weeks. He looks awake, but he's not. Whatever you say, we don't know if he will register. This can't have been the work of physical trauma within a day, unless—" she didn't finish her sentence.

She didn't have to. The implication of brain damage was clear enough.


	11. The Good Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Dr. Jason Momoa, and Richard comes back to Maui.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard Armitage and Jason Momoa written by BlueMonkey
> 
> Aidan Turner and Dean O’Gorman written by ThornyHedge

\-------

"It's best you return tomorrow, sir. It's too soon for us to tell," the overly-efficient nurse tried to bustle Aidan from the room.

“Wait! No!” Aidan stopped in his tracks and refused to move. “This happened today, ma’am, I assure you of that. He only left the house at eleven this morning. We live together,” Aidan explained, pulling out his cell phone and showing her the video of Dean’s stomach being stomped on so cruelly by James. “This—this happened at 5:45 this afternoon. What aren’t you telling me?”

She started losing her patience. "I am telling you everything there is we know, sir. Though I suggest you go to the police and report that. As to whoever did this, that's not the hospital's concern. Our concern is making sure he gets out of that state. The longer he stays in it, the more dangerous it'll be for him. I am not at liberty to tell you what we suspect. But everything you can tell us about him—allergies, sports, anything—might be helpful in finding out what's wrong. So if you'd follow me to the reception desk, you would help him more than by staying here."

Aidan's phone loudly shattered the peaceful beeping of the sinus.

"Sir. You're in a hospital. I'm going to have to ask you to turn off your phone."

“Yes, yes of course,” he agreed, casting one last stricken look at Dean. “But I want to come back here after I’ve told you all I know,” he insisted. “I-I need to use the restroom, and I’ll come directly to reception,” he told her, ducking into the bathroom before she could protest.

“Hello?” Aidan answered the phone, breathless.

"Aidan!" Richard called out, distressed. He didn't stop talking, as soon as he realized he made contact. "God, I'm so happy to talk to you! Where are you? I'm so sorry I couldn't call you sooner. I only read your email just now, and are you okay? I'm getting the first flight back from Bombay in half an hour, so please, don't do anything."

Aidan’s knees would no longer hold him and he sank to the floor next to the wall. “I’m so happy to hear your voice, Richard,” he said hoarsely. “I-I caved to James. I gave him everything. I had to. And he returned Dean, true to his word. He dropped him off at a hospital. But he _did_ something to him. He’s in a coma. The doctors won’t tell me what’s wrong with him. He’s got surgery in the morning.” Aidan finally had to pause, as he ran out of breath. “R-richard, I don’t think you rushing back here is necessary,” he wiped away tears with the back of his hand. “It’d only be tedious for you. I plan to stay with Dean until he’s back on his feet. It’s the least I can do. In case James comes back for more. He needs protection.”

Bombay's airport was a fucking bustle. Half of the message was lost in the commotion behind and around Richard as he tried frantically to press his free ear shut to hear Aidan's voice better. He just wanted to shout out for everyone to shut up. "He didn't hurt you, did he? Please tell me you're fine. Don't think you're stopping me from boarding that plane. I don't want you there without someone to protect you and that man knowing where you'll be. Who says he doesn't do anything else?"

When Aidan's email had flashed in his inbox, Richard's first response was a warm smile. It did him good to open up a connection upon touching down and hear that he wasn't forgotten. But as the tone of the email became graver, his smile had fallen, until fear fully him and any second without a phone was killing his nerves.

Aidan was all right.

"Where are you now?"

“I’m at the hospital, with Dean,” Aidan told him, getting to his feet. “In the bathroom, actually. I-I wasn’t hurt at all, Richard. James seems to have taken all his anger out on Dean,” he said sadly. “And I imagine James is well on his way to another country by now.”

"He will be hunted down," Richard said with iron determination. The inquisitor in him shone through, though he'd vowed never to go there again. He had men to do that for him now. He quickly willed himself to calm down and return to relief. "Stay where you are, or with people you trust. Please don't go off on your own. Anywhere. I can't bear to lose you."

Richard swatted away a man that kept pestering him to use the public pay phone after him.

“I’ll be staying here at the hospital, or at a nearby hotel. I managed to hold onto some money,” he told Richard, while he allowed Richard’s surprisingly affectionate words to wash over him. “I’ll stay in public places, I promise,” he told him. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to return here. I don’t think there’s anything you can do right now. You have a company to worry about.”

"Conference calls. I don't _care_ about the company, Aidan. I'll explain I had urgent matters to attend to and stay up late to talk to them over video. They'll understand I'm not going to wake up at three in the morning for a conference call if I'm having a holiday." Richard got a shove back from the man trying to push him off the phone from behind him, and stared him down with the coldest look he could muster up.

While still high on nerves and relief, that wasn't a big success. So he opted for simply shoving him back.

"Look, I don't know how much longer I can talk. I really have a flight to catch. Please keep your phone charged, and try not to make any payments or deposits with your account. I don't want James to catch on."

“I have cash on me, Richard,” Aidan assured him. “Plenty of it. I withdrew it before I made the ransom drop. The name of the hospital I’m at is Maui Metro Health Center,” he read from the sign on the back of the washroom door. “Call me when you get here, please,” he said, ending the call.

He was desperate to get down to reception and shed light on what happened to Dean. Anything to help him on the road to recovery. He splashed some cold water on his face and left the men’s room.

\-----

Richard didn't call when he got there. He didn't want to cause a disturbance if he could help it. Tired from two flights of which the first had been spent not sleeping because he wanted to be able to sleep on the second flight, and the second stressed with rampant thoughts and the urge to hurt someone if the plane didn't fly faster—luggage and customs were a blast—he walked in being a full day behind on his sleep.

The man at the reception desk told him where to find Gregory Prescott. While he walked there, he flipped open his phone and called his office in London. Several people stared at him angrily when he rang his secretary in the elevator. He just could not find it in him to care.

When he finally reached the right floor and the right room, five past five in the afternoon, he braced himself.

Dean lay sleeping on his back on the bed, his casted left arm and hand propped up by a pillow. A bright white bandage was wrapped around his chest and a small white patch covered an injury on his forehead. The white sheets brought out purple and green bruising on his stomach and upper arms. 

Aidan was sleeping as well. He was seated in a plastic bedside chair, and had it pulled flush to the bed. His head lay on the mattress, inches from Dean’s uninjured right arm, and his right hand curled around Dean’s forearm as he dozed. 

Apart from the wounds and the setting of the pale room, they looked sweet together. Almost peaceful. Richard looked down at them for a long while and wondered why Aidan was leaving this for him. It wasn't that he wasn't glad that Aidan said he was going to, but he could not understand. It'd be so easy for Dean and Aidan to decide they were going to stick together, and Richard would be the one going home with nothing.

And Dean, well, Dean was still an asshole for all the things he'd done to him. Richard kept it at that. He didn't want to think about that now, nor try to explain the reason why his stomach lurched at the sight as if this was actually someone dear to him. Dean was _not._

Touching Aidan's arm, Richard quietly tried to rouse Aidan.

Aidan let out an adorable sigh and opened his eyes slowly. First he looked to Dean, but when he realized the blond hadn’t awakened him, he turned around to see Richard standing there, looking absolutely exhausted. Without a word, Aidan got up and threw his arms around his waist, hugging him tightly and laying his head on his shoulder. He showed no signs of pulling away.

"Hey," Richard crumbled under the weight of sleep, now that he was here. He looked at Dean, while holding himself up on Aidan. "How is he doing? Have you been here all night? And what about you? Are you certain he didn't hurt you?"

He should not be here, but he was so glad that he was.

“Dean was given some sort of weird drug—obviously by James—that mimicked coma. He woke in the middle of the night. He had to have some surgery on his back this morning. James broke a couple vertebrae when he hit him. But there’s no spinal cord damage. Just needed some pins in the bone,” Aidan explained. “He’ll have some pain, but they expect him to recover fully. He’ll need a physical therapist for a bit, but no permanent damage.” 

He looked up at Richard. “I wasn’t hurt. I didn’t even see James. He dealt with me over the phone.” He lifted a hand and smoothed some errant hairs from Richard’s face. “You look exhausted, Richard.”

Richard leaned into the touch easily. "I could get some sleep," he admitted, his eyes falling shut, "Later. I needed to see if you were alright. You scared me so much. Please don't do that again. I'll pay for Dean's recovery if you want me to." Not because Richard was so fond of the man; he obviously meant enough to Aidan for the man to get by the money anyway. "How much did you save for yourself?"

He wanted to kiss him and make it right. On the bed, Dean's presence was accusatory. "You didn't get to a hotel at all, did you?"

“No, I didn’t,” Aidan confessed sheepishly, casting a glance at Dean. “I couldn’t leave him alone like this.” He took Richard’s face in both hands. “We don’t need your money, Richard. Dean’s super-responsible,” he said, regretting it instantly. “He had himself insured. Me too, I think. I-I just don’t have a head for the minutia. I kept close to a hundred thousand pounds,” he told Richard. “James would not be pleased if he knew.”

Richard couldn't help but laugh. A hundred thousand. Aidan had definitely given James a run for his money, even though he'd lost the larger part. "Well, that should keep you going for a few months." Nevertheless, if James found out, Aidan would not be safe. Richard needed to do something about that. "If I get us both a room, will you sleep in a normal bed tonight?" He could get a two person room, and he could hold himself back if he had to, but he was not going to leave Aidan alone.

That however posed the question who would look after Dean.

"How about," Richard whispered, quiet enough for no one else to hear, "I show you a thing or two about hacking into the local police database?"

“I think I’d enjoy those hacking lessons very much,” Aidan whispered back. “Maybe we could—” but he was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

A tall, handsome Hapa entered the room in a pair of scrubs. “I’m Jason Momoa,” the man introduced himself. “I’m the orthopedist who did Mr. Prescott’s surgery.”

Aidan extricated himself from Richard’s arms and shook the hand that Dr. Momoa offered. “I’m Ethan Mills. I’m Greg’s roommate. This is our—our friend, Richard.”

“As you know, Greg’s going to be fine. I actually knew him—prior to his injury. I surf, and I visit his shop pretty regularly. I love that vintage look he has going on in there,” the doctor told them. “At any rate, I’m going to be doing his physical therapy as well. I was just stopping by to see how he was doing.”

“He’s been sleeping, mostly. Awake off and on,” Aidan told him. “He’s been pretty medicated.”

“The nurses told me Greg’s shop was robbed and that’s how he got injured,” Jason said sadly. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it won’t discourage him from getting back to it.”

“Me either,” Aidan said sincerely. “He put his heart into that place.”

“I can tell,”Jason’s expression was unreadable as he glanced at Dean’s chart. “I’ll be working with him this evening when he’s feeling a bit less groggy. We’ll see if we can get him up and walking around. You two should go home. You look exhausted,” he observed.

All the while Richard kept silent, watching the exchange as it took place. If Aidan was telling him everything, then the cover-up story he'd decided on was apt. Though he wasn't the best at improvisation unless it was aimed at extricating information from a person, he decided he'd add to it.

"I got here as soon as I heard about what happened. Ethan told me how much he loved that shop. I've been looking into seeing if we can restore it, but our first concern is getting him back in the saddle and onto recovery." Because he didn't know how much Dr. Momoa knew from Aidan and Dean, Richard thought it best to create a bit of distance between him and Aidan, so as not to start the rumor mill too soon. "Do you know how long it's likely to take before he can run the shop again?”

“He’ll be up and around in no time,” Jason assured them. “Of course, with those injuries, I’m not going to recommend he get back on a surfboard for a few months, though.”

“That’s great news,” Aidan smiled. “Greg will be happy to know he was operated on by a loyal customer. I think Richard and I may just take your advice and leave for awhile. Neither of us has slept much in the past 48 hours. To be honest, I was worried that the person who robbed the store might come after him here. He hasn’t been caught.”

“Would it make you feel better if I stayed with him?” Jason asked. “I have some patients to check in on, as I am on duty. I might as well spend the time doing a good deed.”

“I’d be in your debt,” Aidan told him, leaning down to kiss Dean’s forehead. He handed Jason one of his business cards. “Call me at this number if you need me to come back here.”

Richard too voiced his gratitude. He didn't give his own business card though, as that might have been a bit pompous next to Aidan's. 

As soon as they left the room and were out of hearing range, Richard mused, "You have need of business cards? You help the elderly with their computer knowledge, don't you?" The tone of his voice was off and it sounded bitter, while he didn't mean it badly. "Sorry," he added, "I'm just really tired. We're going to get him, I promise you that, but I think we need sleep first."

Not trusting either of them to drive, he called a taxi and ordered the driver to find the best and closest place in the neighborhood, no matter the price. If something happened, he didn't want them to have to cross half the city first.

"He'll be safe there," Richard spoke against the silence suddenly. "And you'll soon be safe too. Until that time, I'm not going anywhere. You scared me so much, talking about how you might not see me again." As he talked, his voice became quieter, until at last it was no more than a whisper. His fingers tentatively touched Aidan's in the dead angle of the driver's rear window.

“I was _scared,_ ” Aidan admitted, lacing his fingers with Richard’s. “When James called and told me what he’d done, it was like an icy hand reached inside and grabbed my heart. I think it was at that moment—and only then—I realized how dangerous and stupid we’d all been.” He tried to tell himself the tears in his eyes were from being over-tired, but they weren’t. “I’m so ashamed of what I’ve done, Richard. The life of a criminal doesn’t suit me one bit, I’m afraid.” He lay his head back against the head rest. “My needs are simple,” he yawned.

Richard was glad to hear those words. He sighed and let the scenery flash him by. Days ago, he would have looked forward to a taxi ride with Aidan. Tonight, everything was turned upside down. He took no pleasure from it. "I don't want that kind of life for you. You know I am in it, and I'm afraid I have to tell you I will stay in it. Don't think of me differently, because I will do my best to make sure this doesn't happen to you again. Or him, if he means that much to you. James will get his due for his transgression."

James would pay for making Aidan cry.

While the driver arranged for a hotel—apparently he'd had similar requests in the past and struck up a bargain with several hotels in the vicinity—Richard shifted and leaned his ear against the back rest to look at Aidan.

"I'm sorry for not properly taking care of him before."

“I knew James would be upset, but I never expected he’d hurt Dean. I was under the impression that he loved him. Maybe I just don’t get the whole ‘love’ thing at all,” he ruminated. “ _So_ tired,” he concluded, smiling at Richard. “I could sleep for a week.”

The taxi driver pulled up to a beach resort hotel about a mile from the hospital and the pair checked in using one of Richard’s many false IDs. Aidan, tired as he was, insisted on a shower before bed. He’d secreted so much adrenaline in the previous 36 hours, he could smell its metallic tang on his skin.   
The heat of the pounding shower was Aidan’s undoing. He fell asleep on his feet once, awakened by Richard’s knocking on the door.

“I’m so sorry,” he emerged, a white hotel towel wrapped around his waist and rubbing his hair with another. “Didn’t you ever have a day when you just wanted to wash it away and start over?”

Richard didn't do much else than look at him. Seated on the edge of the bed, he was fighting himself not to fall back and just go to sleep now. But he could use a shower; that, and the sight of Aidan drying his hair while having no issues covering up the top half of his body, made him able to stay awake. Ten more minutes or so, because he was at the end of his strength.

"Several times," he said. "Being in my line of work tends to have that effect on people. Today wasn't one of them. I'm glad I came here and saw you." Technically, it was yesterday. Though since he hadn't slept, he thought it was justified to count it as today. He reached for his shoes and started getting rid of his clothes from the bottom up. "I wish I hadn't left. If I'd known... But it wouldn't do to dwell on that. He's going to recover, and we're going to track James down. We together are going to do that." He smiled. "Think of it as your job interview."

Then he got up and, naked as he was after he pulled his shirt off over his head, walked to the bathroom, stopping in his steps when he passed Aidan. "I won't take long, but don't wait up. You look exhausted."

Aidan waited up, but only long enough for the older man to crawl into bed next to him so he could fall asleep with his head on his chest.

\------

“Greg?” Dean awoke, head fuzzy, from a deep sleep to a firm pressure on his right forearm. He knew he’d been given some amazing pharmaceuticals, but they must have been really outstanding. Sitting next to his bed was one of his favorite customers from the shop, Jason Momoa. Visually, Jason was a treat for the eyes—over six feet tall with broad shoulders, long dark hair, deep brown eyes and bronze skin. Right now, Jason had his hair tied back and was wearing scrubs.

“Jason?” Dean asked, voice hoarse. “What are you doing here? W-Where’s Ethan?”

“Your roommate was here with you all day,” Jason told him. “I sent him home for a proper nap. I’m your doctor, Greg,” Jason told him. “I operated on your back. Do you remember anything about what happened to you?”

“I must be really, really stoned on pain meds,” Dean smiled, blue eyes becoming more clear as he remembered where he was and how he’d gotten there. “You’re a _doctor?_ ”

“Orthopedist,” Jason told him. “I may have failed to mention that when I came into the shop.”

“The _many_ times you came into the shop,” Dean corrected him. 

“I like _Little Kahuna_ ,” Jason shrugged. “What can I say? I was drawn there by the name. My dad used to call me ‘Little Kahuna’ when I was small.”

“I’m having a hard time picturing you as ever being ‘small’,” Dean smiled. “Your dad was Hawaiian, then?”

“Yes, and my mother was white. I lived with her in Chicago for awhile. It’s where I got my degree and did my internship. But I was drawn back here like a magnet. It’s hard to leave Lahaina once it gets in your blood.”

Dean nodded in agreement. _And in your heart,_ he thought, wondering when Aidan might return.

“I asked if you remembered what happened to you yesterday,” Jason continued, “It’s actually part of your recovery questionnaire. What do you remember about the attack?”

“I was in the back office of the store, closing up. I heard a noise in the shop and walked out to see what it was. I remember pain—bad pain—in my back,” Dean looked down at his casted hand. “I held up my arm to protect my face, and he broke it. Then, he hit my head. That’s all I remember,” he was careful not to mention James Nesbitt in his retelling. After all, Jason was a doctor, not a cop.

“Your shop was robbed,” Jason told him, “as you were closing up. Someone attacked you, beat you pretty badly, tied you up and left you there, just inside the open front door. A passer-by found you and called the hospital.”

Dean shuddered and Jason put a comforting hand on his arm again. “You were in a coma when you arrived. We still haven’t quite figured that one out. While you did have a concussion, it wasn’t serious enough to warrant a coma. Your blood work hinted at some unusual medication. I know you’re not a drug user—are you?”

“No,” Dean told him adamantly. “Of course not.”

“I didn’t think so,” Jason smiled. “But I had to ask. You seem very diligent about taking care of your body. You’re very fit, I mean,” the young doctor told him, and Dean noticed a hint of a blush creeping up from beneath his cobalt blue scrubs. Dean looked down at Jason’s hands. He wasn’t wearing any rings, nor were there any tell-tale indentations or tan lines where rings had recently been. Could this beautiful creature possibly be single?

Dean adroitly changed the subject. “Is that food on that tray?” he wondered. “I’m famished.”

“It is, if you feel up to it,” Jason rolled the tray closer to Dean. “I’ll raise the head of your bed, slowly. If you feel anything strange, let me know. I put some pins in two of your thoracic vertebrae this morning. One was just cracked, but the other was shattered. The attack was very vicious. Had he hit you any harder, you might have wound up paralyzed.”

_Paralyzed._ The word reverberated in Dean’s mind and he remembered with mounting horror the feeling of being helpless under James’ rough hands. That, combined with the tilting of his world caused suddenly dizziness and nausea to rise. “Wait,” he breathed. “Please, wait!”

Dean wrapped his good right hand around the metal bar on the side of his bed and took several long, steadying breaths. “Dizzy,” he explained to Jason. “’m sorry.”

“It’s to be expected,” the doctor told him softly. “We’ll take it as slowly as you need to, Greg. But, being hydrated will help. Drink,” he held a cup of water with a straw up to Dean’s mouth and Dean took a few tentative sips. 

The water felt so good in his throat, he took the cup from Jason. “Thanks,” he smiled gratefully. “This helps. I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.”

“Maybe having your friends come back would help in your recovery,” Jason suggested.

“Did you say—friends?” Dean asked carefully. “My roommate Ethan was here earlier. Did someone else come?”

“It was his—well, they seemed pretty close—I’m going to go with ‘romantic interest’,” Jason told him. “Tall, dark hair, blue eyes. I think he might have been British.”

Dean raised a trembling hand to his mouth. “Richard.”

“That’s it. Richard,” Jason nodded. They were exhausted, like I told you. The older man had been on a long flight, apparently. I sent them home for some rest. I hope you don’t mind. I promised to keep an eye on you between patients,” Jason’s dark eyes locked with his. “I see I made a smart decision there. You’re a mess.”

“I am,” Dean admitted sadly, closing his eyes and laying his head back against the pillow. “Did Ethan seem to be all right?” he asked.

“Aside from being worried sick about you? Yes,” Jason told him. “He appeared to be in good hands.” He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re in good hands too, Greg. I promise.”

Dean nodded in agreement, but turned his face away from Jason to hide his tears. “I’m still so tired, Jason,” he told him. “Could I maybe rest a little more?”

Jason looked down at his watch. “Yes. I’ll do rounds and come back for you in about two hours. Then, my friend, you and I are going for a walk.”

“I can’t wait,” Dean tried to keep his voice level. “I-I’ll see you then.” 

He broke down after Jason left the room. Aidan was lost to him.


	12. An Interesting Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard teaches Aidan a few things. Jason asks Dean a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard Armitage and Jason Momoa written by BlueMonkey
> 
> Dean O'Gorman and Aidan Turner written by ThornyHedge

\-------

An Interesting Development

So exhausted was Richard from his lack of sleep that he did not wake until late in the morning. His six o'clock morning rhythm forgotten, eleven greeted him with a warm welcome. He squinted at the sun, realized they hadn't closed the curtains the night before in their fatigue, and then became aware of the man lying next to him.

Aidan was almost a painting, the way he breathed and the sheets wrapped around his form; stark white on tanned olive. His hair covered most of his face, and a strand stuck to his lips.

For everything that had gone wrong, at least one thing had gone right.

When Richard realized it was the first time they had shared a bed, he rolled onto his side and simply looked at him for a long time. But the climate was soon making his skin clammy and there were things to do. Now that he was properly rested, he shouldn't push that ahead of him. Careful not to wake the younger, he crawled out of bed, tiptoed to his laptop, and returned to the bed to put the device on his lap.

There were mails to be sent.

Richard watched Aidan once more as he booted the laptop. He brushed a strand out of his face and smiled.

The sound of the laptop booting up was better than any alarm clock for Aidan, much to Richard’s amusement.

“Mmm, hey,” he moaned sinfully, rolling lazily onto his back. Then he noticed the position of the sun. “Shit, it’s gotta be noon. I’ve left him alone too long,” he lamented. “What if James—” 

"You should know me better than that by now," Richard interrupted. "Wait until this thing is up and running. I'll show you"

And while they waited, he took the chance to lean down for a kiss.

They hadn't shared one since Dean had been taken, so Richard hoped things hadn't changed and he was suddenly crossing boundaries.

Aidan raised a hand to curl in Richard’s hair and reciprocated the kiss with equal fervor. “Now you’re just trying to distract me,” he pouted. “What did you do? Set up a camera or something?”

"Wait for it," Richard muffled into the kiss. But eventually he stopped caring whether the laptop had been properly booted up and was very, very inclined to put it away in favor of crawling on top of Aidan.

The sound of Skype starting up automatically pulled him back to the present.

Richard turned the laptop ninety degrees. "Behold," he said, and showed a matrix of nine cameras. One was Dean's shop; one the lawn where they'd met again; the others were insignificant locations—parking lots, the airport. None showed the hotel just yet, but that's because he hadn't had time.

A black terminal window popped up in the top corner.

"Shall we have a look?"

Not much later, using the hospital's public website in order to acquire an IP, Richard had easily gotten into the mainframe of the many security cameras around and was extracting a view from room 605 and the reception desk in front of it.

Aidan looked up at him with an expression of reverence. “You must teach me, Obi Wan,” he breathed, kissing a line up Richard’s neck to the shell of his ear.

Richard shuddered. He held his ground for a second; then he turned and captured Aidan's jaw with two hands. Only after having bruised his lips thoroughly did he pull back and whisper in his ear, "All in good time, young padawan. I have a lesson or two for you yet."

Doing his best not to fall for distractions again, he zoomed the camera in and took over control, having it rotate left and right. There, on the far left, was Dean's corner of the room.

Dean looked to be talking to the doctor they had met the night before. Richard smiled. He was fine.

“Ah, it’s Doctor Sex-on-Legs,” Aidan mumbled. “Is it fair that someone should look that good _and_ be a doctor?” he squeezed Richard’s thigh lazily. “Looks like he’s taking his job seriously.”

For Aidan telling him on several occasions that he'd dreamt of Richard since his teens, Richard frowned at the nickname meant for someone else. He didn't know how to respond, which ended in him simply not responding at all. Instead he focused on the camera, tried to see if he could zoom in, and maybe get some audio to go with that. Unfortunately, the stream was video only.

“That came out like me sounding like a jealous boyfriend,” Aidan apologized. “You, as you well know, are beyond gifted in the physicality department as well, Richard. I’m a troll compared to you,” he smiled. “A troll in a cave,” he leaned in and kissed Richard sweetly on the cheek. 

“Why do you think James asked me to give him the business deed? I can understand the vehicles… but why the business, if he’s planning to flee?” Clearly, having to give away Dean’s shop was still troubling the younger man.

The camera view of the shop was pulled up. It looked the same as it had been before—except abandoned now. "You don't have to explain anything to me," Richard tried to downplay his awkwardness over the subject, "One way or another, you two are unfortunately still together." They had never broken up.

Richard pulled his legs up until they were crossed under the sheets, and readjusted his laptop. "I don't dare presume what goes on in Nesbitt’s head. There's a number of reason why I would want property off someone's hands. Selling, or burning, it just so they stop having it." He tapped Aidan's nose. "Promised you I'd fix it though, didn't I?"

“It’s kind of you to offer to do that, Richard. Beyond the realm of normal kindness, considering what Dean’s done to you,” Aidan reminded him. “But I have a feeling Dean will be leaving Hawaii as soon as he can comfortably travel. Now that James knows where to find him—and you do,” he whispered. He was quiet for a bit, content to simply study Richard’s profile. “I know you may not believe this about yourself, but you are a good man.”

"I'd rather have Dean here where I know where I can find him. Besides, I told you James will be out of the picture soon. I can't run the risk of him showing up again and putting you in danger. That's a matter of personal pride." All things considering, Richard preferred reason above acknowledging Aidan's praise. "No more about that now."

Aidan lay back on one elbow and told Richard, “I will never stop believing in you, Richard. And never stop appreciating you. I feel as if I have only begun to discover the mystery that is you. You’re like Atlantis—and I’m am explorer arriving there for the first time. Or, a remote cave full of hieroglyphics no archeologist has ever entered, or—”

Richard kissed him to shut him up. "You think too highly of me." It was only months ago that Richard had had him locked up in his panic room and treated him terribly. He didn't deserve the reverence he got from Aidan now. "Come on, I told you I was going to show you how to get into the local police database. Watch and learn from the master. As soon as you decide what is going to happen to James."

If Richard himself would decide, Aidan would certainly not like it.

“I’d like to see him put a way for a long, long time,” Aidan said with certainty. “Can we make that happen? If not that, I’m certainly amenable to something more—final.” His eyes grew dark.

Wide eyes turned toward him. "You don't seriously... Aidan, you can't tell me things like that. You know I will if I have to. I won't take pleasure from it, but if you ask me to get someone out of the way like that, I will, and there's no going back from that. We could have him arrested for drug use. Attempted murder. Pedophilia. Which is really not nice, since that'll follow him for the rest of his life."

Aidan sighed gently. “You’re right, of course. I have never believed in violence. The video and photo he sent me were… chilling. They brought out something in me that frightened me. I am not that person, Richard. I _do_ want him to suffer, though. Whatever sentence you feel might put him away the longest,” he decided. “Do it.”

And well, Richard had been thinking up ideas for that since he heard about him on a crowded airport in India. He took one last check of Dean's room, but Dean seemed to be safe. Then he issued a string of commands into the terminal, connected with the database through a pathetically easy back door, and pressed enter one final time with pride.

"Can I have your phone?"

Richard hoped Aidan was watching him work. His fingers flew across the keys like a maniac. Complicated connections looked easy as he managed four tasks at the same time, alternating between several tabs within his terminal, a GPS tracking site and a bank monitoring application he'd written himself a few years back, and tweaked several times since.

The time and phone number of the messages was written down into one of his programs, sent out to check for any matches, and around the same time, Richard checked all transactions having occurred from Aidan's account—which he'd already connected to before when he tried to locate him the first time.

Five minutes later, he sat back with a content smile. "His phone and accounts are flagged, his name has become a suspect of large scale trafficking and murder, and he's on the run for assault on an officer."

Aidan was mesmerized with the speed and pure competence with which Richard performed feats of hacking that would confound most who claimed to have ‘mad skillz’. He’d been able to follow nearly all of it, although it seemed Richard was purposefully rushing things to mess with him. Aidan was embarrassed of the erection that tented the sheets as he watched Richard’s long, adroit fingers at work. He swallowed thickly and used the comforter to hide his bizarre reaction, hoping Richard was too caught up in his work to notice.

He was, fortunately or unfortunately, successful. Richard kept his eyes firmly trained on Aidan, a grin tugging his lips into a confident smirk for the amazement he saw in the other, and he asked, "Anything else you'd like to add to that?"

Aidan merely gasped happily. “Just… your hands… on me. _Now,_ ” Aidan insisted, a pink blush spreading across his chest.

Richard blinked between Aidan and the laptop once. "You..." But any re-evaluation of the moment brought him only one conclusion. He tried to be calm about it when he closed his laptop and put it aside. He tried to be even calmer when he got up to put it on the nearest table.

But who was he kidding? His self-control was shattered the moment he saw that flustered look on Aidan's face, and he took a much shorter time than he thought he would to crawl back on the bed and hover above him, while his hand pushed down under the sheets and found the man hard for him.

This was an interesting development.

Aidan tried to think of something compelling or interesting to say when Richard discovered his erection, but all he could manage was a helpless shrug. “Y-you do things to me, Richard. You have no idea.” 

"I'm... how? I didn't do anything."

Confused as Richard was, he still enjoyed leaning in to lick a line from Aidan's collarbone to his chin, while circling a finger around the base of his cock, making sure to have the touch ticklish and light enough to make the man squirm.

“Yes you _did,_ ” Aidan begged to differ, melting under Richard’s touch. He curled a hand around the nape of Richard’s neck. “God, but I am helpless against your sexiness. A lost cause,” he squeaked, as Richard’s hand found his perineum. He raised his eyes to lock with his bed mate’s. “I want you desperately.”

Richard pressed their hips together at once. His heartbeat was picking up, blood rushing to all the right places, and it was making him light-headed. His lips took a moment to catch up. Then they spoke, full of amazement, "You're so unbelievably hot," and mouth pressed to mouth, tongues darting out and shying back, until Richard securely had the upper hand.

While the laptop and their plans to check up on Dean and fix James a worse destiny stood on hold, Richard's hands caressed Aidan's sides. God, he wanted this creature under him, this odd being with strange twists of his mind and too much charm for him to resist.

\-------

True to his word, Dr. Momoa made Dean get out of his hospital bed and walk around. The walking itself wasn’t painful—as long as he took it slowly—but the twisting and getting out of bed was excruciating. Jason assured him it’d get easier each time. His deep voice and sincere brown eyes made Dean want to believe him.

Dean was saddened when Aidan didn’t return that evening, or the next morning. He began to worry that what Jason witnessed between Aidan and Richard wasn’t loving or consensual, but Richard abducting Aidan and secreting him away. But Dean was in no shape to chase after them, even he had to. The 20-foot walk down the hall had exhausted him. He was still experiencing double vision and ached all over. 

All he could do was get well and pray that Richard was reciprocating Aidan’s affections. Dean always feared, but never believed, it could happen. He had to mentally prepare himself for a life without Aidan by his side. 

"Something on your mind?" a voice brought him out of his stray thoughts. The small park for patients outside the hospital was nice, bringing shade to an otherwise hot day. With plenty of benches spread out across the path, it was a safe place to be taking Dean, even if it might be slightly too early. But, as was Jason's theory, the sooner people were forced onto the path of recovery, the better it usually turned out to be. Nonetheless, every time Dean winced, he felt sorry for it.

They passed an older lady with an I.V. and a caretaker on the other side. "Good day for a stroll, isn't it, Mrs. Rumford?" Jason nodded good-naturedly. He always enjoyed a chat with the woman whenever she couldn't sleep and he had a late shift. She had a mean poker hand, too.

"Oh dear, it's wonderful," she smiled. "Who's this now? I don't think I've seen his face before."

Jason glanced at Dean. "You're looking at Mr. Mahelona's new roommate. His name's Gregory Prescott."

"You mean this young man has to listen to Tom go on and on about his younger days? You'd better send him to my room for a chat soon." She winked at that. "I have a feeling I'd like his company."

Dean smiled at her words. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Mane—Malo—ma’am,” he blushed and nodded. The long Hawaiian surnames didn’t roll naturally off his tongue. His pale face bore a sheen of cold sweat from his exertions. “Doc,” he entreated, “d’you think we could sit down and take a break?”

Jason was very perceptive. Dean’s head was so full of thoughts—most of them troubling—that it was damn near to bursting. He’d known Jason, albeit casually, for two months now. Could he trust him with his darkest secrets? Jason had told him that he would be released in three days. What would Jason do if he knew Dean had no home to go to? 

Aidan told Dean of everything James had demanded. What hit Dean hardest wasn’t the loss of the money, but the loss of his beloved shop. He’d finally felt he had done something he could be proud of—something that gave him a valid purpose for getting up each day. Gone, now. All of it. Even Aidan.

Dean wiped a shaking hand over his eyes and sank weakly onto a bench, wincing at the twinge of pain in his back.

"It's Rumford, dear," the old lady smiled. She turned to Jason. "Looks like your man needs some rest, Dr. Momoa. I should be off, looks like I'm keeping someone up," he gestured to her caretaker, a young man who lacked the patience to just enjoy a good stroll in the park, and kept looking like they ought to be inside within the minute. "Do you have a night shift soon? My grandchild taught me some new tricks."

When the young man sighed, she scowled. "All right, all right. Think about it, doctor." With that and a knowing smile, she resumed her walk.

Jason sat down next to Dean. He sat back and simply enjoyed the breeze for a while; he was in no hurry. At last he couldn't keep the burning question to himself. "I went by the shop this morning on my way here to see how bad the damage was. But everything looked the same. I couldn't find any signs of struggle, though I couldn't see much from outside the window. And I really shouldn't be bothering you with this, but I have the feeling like I'm missing something. Why would someone attack you without there being signs of a break in? Are you in trouble, Greg?"

Dean looked up at Jason, whom he’d watch tirelessly care for him for the past 48 hours without seeming to stop to rest or go home at all. Clearly this was a good man, dedicated and decent. He just couldn’t burden Jason with his issues. He couldn’t.

“I-I was attacked in the back room,” Dean told him. “I had a drawer full of cash with me and the safe was open. I imagine whomever did it got what he was after and didn’t think the surf equipment was worth messing with. That’s probably why the shop looked undisturbed,” he told him, avoiding the question.

"You were found on the street. Do you remember anything that happened after they attacked you? Your visitors mentioned a bat. That's terrible." The doctor paused, and shook his head. "I'm sorry. You should be resting, not answering my questions. I just don't understand why anyone would do something like that. You're a nice guy. You didn't deserve any of that."

Jason looked around. When he didn't see any one of his colleagues, he leaned closer to Dean conversationally. "Are you okay with me lighting a cig?" It was a terrible habit, especially for someone who knew just how much damage it could do, but there was no one around, and he'd been up for a long time. He could use one.

“Of course not, Doc. Go for it,” Dean smiled, relieved for the subject change. “And you’re right. I _am_ a nice guy. There may be a few people in the world who don’t agree. Sadly, one of them had a bat,” he tried to adjust his position on the bench and ended up placing his good right hand over Jason’s. He pulled it away quickly, blushing. “I’ve noticed you don’t go home much. Are you on some sort of torturously long shift or something?”

The cigarette was a relief to the doctor—and an amusing contrast with his white overcoat. It was like someone had taken a man straight from his surfboard, put an elastic tie in his hair and a coat on his shoulders, and put him in the hospital. Jason sighed out at the first draft. It was blissful.

"Of course not. Regular shifts," he chuckled, though he did look as if he was making up excuses, "You must have fallen asleep somewhere and lost track of time." Smoke drifted from his lips before he inhaled it again through his nose. It was a habit. "Speaking of which. Your visitors left me a phone number. Would you like me to call them? A familiar face might do you good."

“Ethan will return when he’s ready, I imagine,” Dean tried to control any undue emotion that might creep into his statement. “And I _do_ have a familiar face. I have yours, Little Kahuna,” he smiled, and immediately regretted saying it. “And while I may have been sleeping more than usual, I am observant. You haven’t left the hospital in two days. Do you even have a home?”

Jason groaned as he blew out smoke. He let his head fall back dramatically, and said, "Seriously? I thought I'd grown past that nickname." Nobody called him ‘little’ anymore. Not since his teen years, at least. Though the way he smiled made it obvious he was just messing with Dean. "Besides, it suits you better now. Oh, hey, you want a smoke?" He held out his cigarette. "I mean, I shouldn't. You're my patient and all. You just look like you could use one."

Dean seemed unimpressed by him avoiding the general subject though. The doctor worried his lip. "I've got a place. It's just, I promised Ethan and Richard to watch over you. If they'd come back, I would have taken a nap then. I'm surprised nobody came to visit you. You seem like the kind of person who makes friends easily."

Dean accepted the cigarette from Jason, but didn’t smoke it. Instead, he stared at the burning tip while he spoke. “Most my friends are back home in New Zealand. A few in London. I’ve only been on the island a few months. Aid—er, Ethan’s my only friend here. And you, of course, if you care to be counted in that number,” he handed the untouched cigarette back to the doctor. “He’ll be back,” Dean assured himself as much as Jason. “I’m sure he just had a lot of paperwork to take care of.”

"Did you really offer to watch over me?" he asked Jason.

"Well, it wasn't like the place I like to hang out at in my hours after work is currently open for business," Jason shrugged—and pointedly did not look at Dean. He drew in a deep breath of smoke and enjoyed the lingering sensation in his system. Then he butted it out. "Nasty habit." He never got around to quitting. Something always demanded more of his attention whenever he made plans to.

"Why does Ethan have paperwork?" he wondered.

“You know, insurance stuff, police stuff,” Dean said lamely, dismissing it all with a wave of his hand. “He’s, uh, probably playing catch-up with Richard too.”

"He's a good friend if he does your insurances for you," Jason mused, while a concerned look flashed across his eyes. Not that it suited him. "They've been away from each other for long, Ethan and Richard?"

The conversation had veered into territory Dean wanted to avoid. “Three months,” he locked eyes with Jason, willing him to drop it. “We worked for Richard’s company before we resigned and came here.”

Jason whistled. "So you're saying Ethan came here with you while he was with someone in the UK? That must have been tough. They looked so tired when they were here. No wonder." Oblivious to Dean's distress, he still did feel like something was amiss. He didn't want to press it though, so he kept throwing out hints while pretending to strike up idle conversation.

“They had a falling out, I guess you could say,” Dean told him. “I can’t begin to understand what did or does go on between them. Computer geeks,” he scoffed unconvincingly. “Crazy lot.” He turned his face away to hide his tears. “D-d’you think we could head back? I’m not feeling very well, Doc.”

 _Oh, shit._ Jason saw the way Dean's expression twisted when he said that. "Yeah, sure, sure. Come on, I'll take you back to your room." He hopped onto his feet and offered Dean an arm.

Greg was in love with one of them.

The walk back to the hospital took longer than he wanted. All the while, he did not bring it up again, instead speaking only of Dean's recovery. Hollow words.

Dean didn’t want to lean on Jason as much as he was, but the walk and talk had taken a lot out of him. It felt good to have a strong arm for support. He always felt like he was the one who had to be strong. It was nice, if only for a little while, to let go and lean on someone else.

“I’m sure you think I’m a mess,” he told Jason finally, when they were back inside the air conditioned hospital. “I suppose I am. My life’s been through a bit of upheaval in the past six months. I’m sorry if it seems I’m hiding things. I’m just—just scared, I guess.”

The new cool brought back goose bumps on Jason's skin. He hated the too air conditioned entrance. "You don't have to be scared," he entrusted. "I promised your friends I'd take care of you. For as long as you're in the hospital, I can live up to that promise. And when you're out, I'm sure Ethan will take over. You guys live together, right? He said you do." A pause. "Sorry, didn't mean to pry. Let's get you back to your ward, okay?"

Dean’s feet felt leaden and his eyes were growing heavy. “You really are a taskmaster, you know that?” he squeezed Jason’s upper arm. “You know, I-uh-I got my black belt in Karate when I was ten years old. I was always kinda little and scrappy, so I learned how to defend myself. I even got into a career where my job was to take care of other people. You can’t imagine how world-altering it was for me to be blitz attacked like that. I’m sort of a control freak,” he admitted.

As they entered Dean’s room, and Jason helped him into bed, Dean said, “I need a lot more looking after than I’d care to admit. I-I’m really glad you offered. I could get used to it.”

The resulting return of a smile on Jason's face made his expression light up at once. It was the kind of smile that shouldn't be in a hospital, but on a beach close to the sparkling water of an ocean in the sunrise. Or perhaps that's exactly why Jason should be in a hospital. He lit up the white wall atmosphere simply by being there.

"I'm here," he nodded. "When you get out of here, you want me to help you sort out security for the shop, or something? I know some guys, so I can get you discounts on high-end alarm systems. I don't feel comfortable with you returning there without making some adjustments to the place to prevent this from happening again."

Jason mulled over a thought. He opened his mouth, frowned, and finally said, "Look, ah, just to be clear, and I'm really sorry if I'm reading this wrong, but are you interested in Ethan?"

“Ethan is my _best friend,_ ” Dean told him. “We have always been close, since the day we met. I would be lying if I said we didn’t have a romantic past—a really, really good one. But his heart is with Richard. Since before he even knew me. I’m sure he’ll always be part of my life. But,” he admitted with finality. “I am single, Jason.” He snuck yet another confirming look down at Jason’s un-adorned hands. “Are _you?_ ”

When he looked up, Jason simply nodded. He looked quite silenced, too, except when he did speak, his voice didn't betray it.

"That's good to hear. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't, now would I? Come on, Little Kahuna. You and I should both get some rest. Then, I'll call your friends, and once you're out of this hospital, I'm going to help you get back on your feet."

He jammed his hands into his pockets, because he had the answer he'd been fishing for for over a month, and he'd made it clear what his intentions were, and really, the ball was in Dean's court now.

“Wait… were you asking me—on a _date_?” Dean smiled, hoping he’d correctly interpreted what Jason had said to him. 

"If you want me to," Jason said like he'd never known rejection, or he really was as carefree as a bird on the shore, "and when you're out of the hospital, because I could seriously get fired for 'abusing' my role as a doctor, then yes."

“I want you to,” Dean smiled. “Ask me, not abuse me. Ah, never mind. At any rate, I want you to know something,” he beckoned Jason closer. “Ethan and I are in Maui on a witness protection, of sorts. My name is Dean, not Greg. I’d rather you get used to calling me that from the start.”

"So then your story about what happened..." Jason looked horrified, because if Dean was in witness protection, then that was no ordinary mugging. "No wonder they asked me to look after you. People usually ask that, but in a different way. Like, _make sure he takes his medication and eats on time_. Well," He stood back, "your secret's safe with me. Dean. I got used to the sound of Greg."

“Call me whatever makes you happy, then,” Dean asked of him. “But I would like the medication, too,” he reminded him, with a suggestive lift to his eyebrows.

"And the meals," Jason supplied. He was brimming with positive energy, in a way that would make him walk into a door if he didn't pay attention. "You should tell me this again in the morning. You know, to make sure you're not under the influence of painkillers and can't remember a thing in a few hours." He was babbling. "Come on. Rest, now."

The nurses were going to read his face like a book.

Dean watched the door for a few minutes after Jason stepped out, just hoping to catch one last glimpse of him before he dozed off. He fell asleep with a hopeful smile on his face.


	13. James 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James isn't done taking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James Nesbitt, Richard Armitage and Jason Momoa written by BlueMonkey.
> 
> Dean O'Gorman and Aidan Turner written by ThornyHedge.
> 
> \-------

Because Aidan was in the shower, and Richard couldn't be arsed to get out of the bed and hand him the phone, he reached for the cause of the obtrusively happy ringtone himself. By doing so, he nearly knocked the alarm clock off the stand.

"Ethan Mills' phone."

"Richard?"

Richard pulled the phone back to look at the screen. _Hospital._ Oh. 

"Speaking. Dr. Momoa? Is everything alright?" Trust Dean and Dean's condition to disturb his post-orgasmic bliss.

Richard hung up just when Aidan walked in the room, several minutes later, and groaned. Five more minutes with this man, that was all he needed. "Dean's doctor called," he nonetheless said, "He's awake and would like to see us."

"Oh?" Aidan felt an instant stab of guilt over staying away from the hospital for so long. "I—I guess I lost track of time. It's not hard when you're around," he smiled at Richard. "He wants to see... _us_?" he verified with the older man. "Or do you just prefer that I not go by myself?"

"The words of his doctor." Richard shrugged, though he wondered about the same thing. "Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he's just being polite. Either way, I'd rather not let you go by yourself. Until we know where Nesbitt is, I don't want to run the risk of losing you to him too." 

Aidan had mentioned to him once that Dean had tried to teach him self-defense, and failed. He didn't want to give James any window.

"Give me five minutes, and I'll be out of the shower and ready to go."

As it was clear that Aidan wanted to.

"Okay, Richard," Aidan agreed amenably. "I just don't want to make you uncomfortable." _Or Dean,_ it was implied. "Go get your shower."

While Richard stepped into the bathroom, Aidan straightened up the room a bit. His mind got to wandering about some local tourist hotspots he might want to take Richard to. He decided to step out onto their ground-level patio to check the weather. It had seemed private enough that he wouldn't be spotted. To be on the safe side, he tucked the handgun into the waistband of his jeans before he went outside. 

Richard tried to take his time in the shower, extending five minutes into what came closer to ten. But he was starting to worry when those minutes were past and Aidan had yet to call that he shouldn't take so long. His hair still dripping water onto the floor and his feet not properly dried, he padded into the living room and looked around.

"Aid?" he called out.

Silence greeted him, punctuated by the twittering of birds coming through the open patio door.

When he waited and still no answer came, he started to worry. "Aidan?" he called again, because the door was ajar and perhaps Aidan simply hadn't heard him. He didn't want to assume...

Again, silence.

Fear suddenly gripped Richard. He looked for the gun he'd arranged on his way back from the airport, finding it near his discarded trousers, and stalked towards the door with the weapon at the ready, clad in nothing but his pair of boxers. Water dripped onto his nose and trickled to his lips, where he absently licked them away. "Aidan? Talk to me."

The patio was abandoned.

From there on, he made haste. He checked every part of the room to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything. He looked under the bed, in the cupboards, and the bathroom once again. Aidan was nowhere to be found. His pupils dilated, he thought about what to do next. Where to look.

When he arrived at the reception desk, he was still buttoning up his trousers. "Have you seen a man with brown curls, about my height, in the last ten minutes?"

"I'm afraid not, sir," the young woman told him. "No one's been by recently. There was an older, balding man here about an hour ago, but he didn't check in."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Only briefly," she informed him. "He was trying to find someone, but he'd come to the wrong hotel."

"Did he have a particular accent?"

_Please say no._

"I'm not particularly savvy about that sort of thing, but he wasn't local, nor was he American. Scottish maybe?" she shrugged. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, Sir."

Richard's heart hammered in his throat. "No, that's okay. Thank you very much." Without waiting for a response, he hurried back to the room to grab his keys and anything that might come in handy. His laptop and his phone, and any rechargers if necessary. Then he raced to the car. He had no idea where he was going. Aidan was gone from him. James more than likely had him. And he had no clue where to look for him.

He did the only thing he could do.

He called Dean.

Dean pushed aside his half-eaten dinner and picked up his phone. _Unknown Caller_ the message said. "Hello?" he answered tentatively.

"Dean!" Richard panted. He didn't bother with formalities. "Where did James take you? Do you know anything about the place? Which region, what kind of place... anything? I need you to tell me all that you know, and I need you to tell it fast."

"R-Richard?" Dean was surprised, but it was quickly overshadowed by the fear in Richard's voice. "Is it Aidan? Did James take Aidan?" He didn't wait for an answer. He already knew it. "He attacked me in my shop. 225 Wainee Street. He took me somewhere else for a bit, too. It was deserted. An old warehouse or office. But I was told he eventually took me back to the shop—that I was found there. I—I don't remember that part." He swallowed audibly. "Richard... don't you let that fucker hurt him."

"I don't intend to. 225 Wainee Street." In the background, Dean could hear a navigation system springing to life, right before the line went dead. Richard took a deep breath. Having seen the damage James had done to Dean, he feared for Aidan's life. James would stop at nothing. He didn't understand. What had Aidan ever done to James that made him so angry?

He put his foot to the pedal. Richard went fast enough to ensure himself of a whole lot of tickets—if Hawaii was anything like London, there would be several tickets for this ride alone. He had no clue where to look for old warehouses, but if he could only get to the shop, he might pick up some clues there.

Meanwhile, Aidan awoke to the smell of gasoline.

The last thing he remembered was turning his face to the warm afternoon sun on the patio when he was grabbed from behind. At first, he thought—hoped—it was Richard, but he was sorely mistaken. Angry hands slammed him down over the patio's glass table and something wet was clamped over his nose and mouth. He had an all-too-familiar flashback to that day in the back of Richard's limousine, only this time, a hard body was pressing against his own and he was powerless to breathe anything but the sweet smelling substance on the cloth. _James,_ he surmised, and the world went black.

The acrid smell of gasoline brought him around. He found himself in the middle of _Little Kahuna_ on the chair Dean kept in his office in the back. He couldn't get up, and realized he'd been tied there, hand and foot. He heard the sound of metal clanging behind him and turned dizzily to see James trickling gasoline over a display of surfboards.

"James?" he called out to his former friend, hoping to somehow play on the bond and talk some sense into him, "James, don't do this."

James whipped around to reveal his mask of rage. It was repulsive and distorted, like how their friendship had become. From his finger dangled the keys that Aidan had handed him through a fourteen-year-old boy. 

"You would give me everything, remember? Those were the words you said, right? This is me _taking_ everything, Aid. I'm sorry it had to come to this, but you leave me no choice."

"I know you hate me now, James, and I don't blame you," Aidan told him. "But I know you loved Dean—a lot. This shop is so important to him," he swallowed. "Can't you just... just leave the country? Surely you're being hunted right now. You should escape while you can still enjoy the money."

"Oh, don't play the saint, Aidan. Be honest here. You want me to stop because you don't want to die. It's a little too late now though, isn't it? You should have given me all of the money. Only you did not. I issued a mock transaction that should have given me an error—that should have told me there was no more money to take." 

James bowed theatrically. "Imagine my surprise when it said you still had plenty to spend." 

He poured gasoline from a jerry can over Aidan's hair and had it seep down his face and shirt; the stench overwhelming. "I tried to give you a chance. You give me no choice but to tie up all loose ends. Forget about your money. I just want to get rid of you."

Aidan gasped and sputtered, the fumes making it hard for him to breathe. He had to lower his head to keep the gasoline from running into his eyes. "I am no saint," he told James. "And of course I don't want to die. But if my dying satisfies you enough to walk away from Maui, then—then just do it, James. I'm sure I deserve to die for all the people I've hurt in my life. Just drop your fucking match and go."

"The self-loathing card? Really?" James picked up a second chair and turned it around, sitting down in front of Aidan with enough distance between them to keep his prisoner from doing anything stupid. He leaned his elbows on the back of the wooden chair. "You probably don't want me to tell you this, since you're so intent on playing the martyr. Let me tell you what I'll do next.

"After this place burns to the ground, I'm going to go to your house. I'm going to sleep in your bed. Hey, Dean's not there, who's going to stop me? Then I'm going to eat from your table and take a shower where you and he undoubtedly spent many hours. And then, it will burn. I will smash the cars, withdraw the money from your own laptops, and leave Dean with nothing when he exits that hospital, except for towering medical bills, which he will not be able to pay. Then, and only then, will I leave his life. Don't you see? You're not the one I want killed. You're simply a part of Dean's life when everything must fall."

He struck a match on Aidan's chair.

Outside the shop, a car pulled up.

Aidan, horrified at everything James had just revealed to him, couldn't help but feel a tiny glimmer of hope. "Something tells me you're fucked, James," he said, hoping to God it was true.

James whipped his head around. He'd heard it too. Cursing, he blew out the match, got up and dragged Aidan to a part of the shop that couldn't be seen from the windows. There, he stuffed a bikini bottom from a nearby display into Aidan's mouth and secured it with duct tape. "If I'm going, I'm not going alone," he pressed a kiss against the silver of the tape. "See you in the afterlife, darling."

With that, he left to the back. There, he lit another match and let it fall.

Aidan prayed with all he had that whoever had pulled up outside was actually planning to come inside and help him. Otherwise, he was well and truly fucked. James, in his haste to hide, had pulled him out of the puddle of gasoline he'd been sitting in, which was actually a good thing—but it was only a matter of time before the flames licking through Dean's office found their way to him. 

Someone knocked on the door.

"Aidan? Are you in there?"

Richard heard no response. He checked the windows, or any cars outside—there were none—and strained his ears for anything out of the ordinary.

He thought he found a dead end and was ready to turn around, frustrated, when a faint sound like rustling leaves reached him.

The window surrendered swiftly to the butt of the gun. A stench of gasoline hung clear in the air as soon as Richard became exposed to it. He nearly gagged. Christ. Something had happened. He saw flames spreading, lapping like lazy whitecaps against the ceiling, and fear gripped him by the throat. Without stopping to think, he jumped in.

The sound of Richard calling his name sent hope blossoming in Aidan's stomach. He cried out as loudly as he could against the thick cloth jammed into his mouth, but he knew there was no way Richard could possibly hear him. He heard the tinkling of glass and knew Richard was coming in—for better or for worse. Unfortunately, the extra ventilation began sucking air from the back of the shop toward the front and flames began spreading towards Aidan's position. 

If Aidan would have been in the back room, it would have been too late for him. That was the first thing that crossed Richard's mind as he stared at the origin point of the flames, now barely distinguishable as the flames spread into a full blaze that feasted and grew on the dry wood. He stared at the lost part of the shop, what-ifs running through his head, before he looked around the shop in losing hope.

In a dark corner sat a struggling Aidan.

Relief flooded through Richard, though pain threw him several daggers at the same time. Aidan looked helpless, bound to the chair with huge eyes and looking so small. He rushed towards him, looked for something sharp to undo the knots—nothing, absolutely nothing—before he had no other choice and pulled him up over his shoulder, chair and all, and carried him to the window as fast as he could.

There would be time to talk later. Right now, Aidan's safety was more important than any vengeance or any attempt at saving the shop.

Aidan's head spun from the smoke and fumes. Richard sat the chair upright about 10 meters from the building. When Richard pulled the gag from his mouth, Aidan was finally able to cough. "J—James," he croaked, with what little breath he had in him. "He's still around here somewhere."

"There are no cars outside," Richard noted, breathing hard. He had noticed another car pulling up, but he took no notice of that; it wasn't a car driving off. "I'm not leaving you here alone. He's not getting his hands on you a second time." Richard looked around. If only he could get Aidan's hands free so that he could defend himself.... Yet there were no sharp objects in the vicinity, and he didn't exactly carry a hunting knife.

Richard ran back to the shop, and returned with a shard of glass. He tugged off his shirt, wrapped one end of it several times around one end to create a handle, and started sawing at the sturdy rope. It gave way after less than a minute, after which he smiled and thrust his gun into Aidan's hands.

"Ethan? Richard?" came the confused voice of Jason.

Richard cursed. "Deal with him. Don't let anyone near you," he commanded Aidan. "If someone does, you fire a warning shot." With a shove he pushed himself off the ground and reached for the glove compartment to get his phone. He wasn't exactly loaded with guns, and he had men to perform a chase for him if the need arose. Richard was no field officer. He wasn't going to let James go without giving him a good run for his money however. He circled the shop to the back.

Aidan couldn't stop coughing, and his eyes were tearing from the smoke and fumes. Red-rimmed, they looked up as Jason approached him, concern in his big brown eyes. The tall, handsome doctor looked devastated at the destruction of _Little Kahuna_ as well. "D-don't worry," Aidan managed between wheezing. "Greg's insured."

The back exit of _Little Kahuna_ stood wide open. Flames were already consuming the entrance, crackling around the wood and the paint. There was no way James would still be inside. Richard scanned his surroundings. The fence separating the shop from the next house wasn't too high for a man to jump over; everywhere else, it was either trees or road. He could imagine that James would have gone that way. Belatedly, he realized that he should have played his cards better as soon as he was sure of the man's presence, and took out his phone to dial the emergency hotline while used the other hand to jump over the fence.

"Yes?" he called, "255 Wainee Street is burning down. I saw a man run away. I think he's headed north. Get here soon." He ended the call before anyone could ask questions.

"D-D'you know how to use one of these?" Aidan raised his eyes to Jason, offering him the firearm. "I can't see very well right now. I wouldn't be able to shoot anyone," he confessed weakly. It was obvious why. Smoke and gasoline had taken a toll on Aidan's eyes. They were red and puffy around the edge; some of the fluid had found its way into them. 

Once he was sure Jason had accepted the gun, Aidan laid his head back against the back of the chair, sagging in relief as the adrenaline and fear left his body. The wheezing, however, didn't abate.

Jason cocked the gun easily. He gauged the weapon. "You're asking an orthopedist whether he wants to use a gun," he said apologetically, "I shot some cans a couple of times, but don't expect me to shoot a person with it either. What _happened_ here?" He looked up at the fire spreading slowly in their path of destruction, and suddenly pulled out his phone to call it in. Even if all seemed lost for the shop, not trying wouldn't get anything done either.

That's when he noticed Aidan's state.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not dead," Aidan smiled, eyes still closed and tearing. "I consider that a major victory."

"You're not going to be," Jason grinned, relieved to have at least that one thing going for them. "Let me take a look at you. Warn me if someone creeps up on us, deal?"

Richard had no idea where he was running to. There was no sight of James, and he wasn't known to be a tracker. He could see by looking at the dry soil that someone had been running here not too long ago, because the patches were darker, but as soon as that trail led him to the paved road, his lead ended. He looked around, desperate.

Aside from a couple of elderly people looking at him oddly for running around in this weather, there was no one.

Richard breathed hard. He wasn't going to find him.

Aidan winced as Jason examined his eyes, exposing them to harsh daylight. "Wish I could take them out of my head and wash them," he gasped, which sent him off into another coughing fit. The smell of gasoline came off him in waves. "Just," he coughed again, "just hose me down and I'll be okay."

"Is that—?" with the stress of the situation, the stench of gasoline only now permeated. Jason's expression turned to one of horror. "Were you drenched in gasoline?" He all but pulled Aidan off the chair and, not waiting for him to protest, or get up for that matter, he dragged him to the nearest house that had a car parked on the driveway and started knocking on the door. If he treated Aidan nicely, the damage would only be worse.

A man of forty-something with a broken leg opened up and looked at them oddly.

"I'm a doctor. We need to use your bathroom right now. This man may have hydrocarbon poisoning." 

When the man looked at them oddly, he groaned and supplied, "Gasoline!"

Coughing from the exertion, Aidan gasped. "You really _are_ going to hose me down, aren't you?" he wondered, blurry vision barely making out the objects in the home Jason was parading him through.

"Keep your mouth shut," Jason said, before cringing at the tone. "Don't swallow anything. We have to get it out of your system as soon we can." 

The dumbfounded resident of the house guided them to the bathroom while not fully comprehending what was happening, overwhelmed by two strangers barging in, one of them claiming to be a doctor. As soon as they reached the bathroom, Jason tugged on Aidan's clothes to get them off—all of them—and called at the man, "Do you have clean clothes for him? We will pay you back after, but for now it's important he doesn't wear those clothes."

Aidan started to strip, but clearly he wasn't reacting with the speed Jason would have liked, because the doctor grabbed began helping, tossing his oxford and jeans into the corner. He didn't speak. To be honest, his lungs hurt and he felt short of breath and he didn't want to waste precious air. He looked forward to having his eyes washed out, so he allowed Jason to guide him—naked as the day he was born—into this stranger's shower.

"Pick up, pick up, please pick up," Richard whispered. He stared at the dial of his screen, ringing since half a minute, but nobody was answering.

Jason scowled at the item when Aidan reached to pick it up. He took it from his hand and pocketed it. "I don't think so. You're going to get clean before anyone calls you." They had different priorities. Taking the shower head from the handle, he didn't wait until the water was warm, and didn't check either. Right now, water was water, and anything would do to get the gasoline off Aidan's skin as fast as he could. He'd seen too much in his line of work, and he wasn't going to risk it.

"Sorry."

He doused Aidan in a jet of water.

The chilly water was a shock after the heat of the day and the fire, but it was a welcome chill. "P-please," Aidan reached out blindly for the sprayer. "My eyes. Can you do my eyes?" When he cracked them open, Jason could see how bloodshot they were. Aidan whimpered with pained relief as the warming water flushed them out, knees nearly giving way. He put a steadying hand on the shower wall and grabbed the shower curtain rod with the other. "God," he gasped. "Better. _So_ much better." 

Then he remembered the phone. "Need to call Richard. He'll freak." Then he started coughing again, and spat a large amount of pink and grey-tinged mucus onto the floor of the shower. "Ugh," he shuddered, looking away from it, as several more productive coughs wracked his body.

"No, that's good," Jason shook his head. "Get it out of your system. Here, can you hold this? Don't stop rinsing, even after you think it's okay to come out." He offered the shower head and turned to the aghast man behind them. Seeing what Aidan had vomited up must have brought him back to reality. "Do you have milk?" They had water aplenty, but he didn't want Aidan to stop washing himself down in order to get a drink. "If you've got a bottle or something, all the better."

When he had a hand free for himself, he fished out the phone. "You're sure you want him to see you like this?"

"He'll want to know I'm okay," Aidan told him over the rushing water. "He can be very _intense._ If Dean knows any of this is going on, we have to get in touch with him immediately, too," Aidan was so immersed in rinsing the smell and taint of gasoline off his body that he didn't even realize that he'd used Dean's actual name in front of Jason. "This is going to break his heart," he added sadly.

Aidan sniffed his own chest and the smell of gasoline seemed to be just as strong as when he'd started scrubbing. He reached for some soap, hoping it might help. He'd undertake his hair next, he decided.

Jason paused to look at the sight. Aidan looked drenched, both physically and mentally. And for good reason; he'd just been assaulted and nearly gotten killed. He was glad that despite the way he responded avidly to the smell of gasoline on him, he could already tell that the damage would be kept to a minimum. "Thanks," he nodded to the man whose house they'd claimed when he was handed a carton of milk. And grateful of him he certainly was. "Your hospitality means he's probably going to be alright. We owe you a lot."

Drying off his hands, he redialed the last call. The number hadn't been stored in the address book, which struck him as odd.

"What's your name, by the way?" he asked while he covered the horn. "You're not really Ethan, are you?"

He didn't need to ask; from the other side of the line sounded an extremely worried, "Aidan?"

Aidan's eyes met his guiltily, having heard Richard's concerned voice saying his name over the phone. He accepted the quart of milk from Jason and took a few sips, shivering.

"Drink all of that," Jason ordered off the phone. "Small sips. Rinse if you can. And keep the water running. Use your other hand, you're not cleaning this one this way." Then he turned to the phone. "Look for the house with the white car. Aidan's here. He's safe. If you can, please find him some clothes. Are there firemen yet?"

There were times when Jason was very glad he had a job at a hospital. At least seeing so many things taught him how to keep his head cool.

"Just now," Richard spoke. "What do you mean, clothes?"

"Blankets. Anything will do."

"I've got blankets," the homeowner spoke quietly. Jason whipped his head around.

"...Just get here," he finally ordered Richard. He punched the call out, then turned to their host again, explaining him that another man was going to ring his bell any time now. Jason had never felt this busy before, like he was running four, five shifts at the same time. He breathed out when the doorbell finally sounded. It meant he'd have backup.

Except the backup turned out to be rather pathetic. Richard tucked his gun into the back of his waistband, upsetting the man whose house they had claimed, then proceeded to be completely worthless when it came to help. All he did was rush to the bath, be in the way, and run his hands over Aidan's face.

Doing a poor job of following medical advice, Aidan dropped the shower head clattering into the tub and threw his arms around Richard. Despite Richard's sooty sweatiness and Aidan's soggy gasoline scent, neither one showed any sign of releasing their grip on the other. The bottle of milk would have slipped from Aidan's hand onto the floor if Jason hadn't been there to catch it.

"You saved my life," Aidan breathed, chest hitching, and peppered Richard's face with kisses. "I...you...," and he clung to him again, feet still inside the bathtub. 

Jason grinned. "Guys," he said, "You might want to save that for later." He pointed delicately at the man whose eyes only got bigger with every new thing that added to the mix. Currently there were two men, of which one was stark naked and wet, kissing in the bathroom of his house. He was going to have the best story to tell his wife when she got home—though that didn't remove much of the awkwardness, as it probably wouldn't remove it from the silence that'd follow his narration.

Richard didn't want to let go. Only when he checked Aidan over several times and came to the conclusion that he really hadn't been hurt—other than, well, poisoned—did he extricate himself and breathe out guiltily.

"James got away. I'm sorry, I tried to find him, but he was gone. The police should be looking for him. I should have never assumed that just because he walked away meant he'd be out of our lives."

"We need to let the hospital know, in case he tries to go after—" but Aidan broke off, not sure how much he should divulge in front of Jason, let alone the owner of the home he was currently standing naked in. "We should call the hospital," he finished, lamely, taking another sip of milk. "I'm supposed to finish up in here. Doctor's orders," he smiled at Richard—and that smile promised so much—then he closed the shower curtain.

"So you want me t—" And then the shower curtain closed, and Richard stood there with his own phone in his hand, wondering if Aidan truly wanted him to call, of all people, Dean. "Oh, you're going to have to pay me back for that!" he called out. The truth was, Richard needed casual banter. He didn't know how worried he'd be if he didn't pretend he was fine right now.

Quite reluctantly he dialed the number, had Dean pick up, and brusquely say, "He's fine. We'll talk to you later," before hanging up again.

"I take it you two have issues," Jason commented dryly.

"Just get him better," Richard waved in annoyance at the shower curtain.


	14. Testosterone-Laden Maelstrom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan gets help. Dean gets dumped. Jason gets sleep. Richard gets Aidan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aidan and Dean written by ThornyHedge
> 
> Jason and Richard written by BlueMonkey

\-------

Fifteen minutes later found Aidan in a borrowed bathrobe, wrapped in a blanket, sitting in the front seat of Jason's car. Richard had given the man who let them into his home for treatment an undisclosed—and, no doubt, embarrassingly extravagant—wad of money.

Despite his thorough wash, Jason still insisted Aidan be brought to the hospital to be checked out. That worked out fine for Aidan. It had been his goal to get there since he’d gotten out of bed that morning. To him, everything still smelled like gasoline. He imagined it might be some time before he purged that smell from his sinuses.

Dean's shop was totaled in the fire. Aidan didn't relish telling him that, but he would. It was highly probably Dean would be leaving Lahaina as soon as he was able to travel, so perhaps he wouldn't be as devastated as Aidan thought. 

He found himself dozing off, despite trying to listen to Jason's medical advice.

"Is he supposed to be doing that?" Richard asked him when Aidan's eyes were shut more than they were open.

Jason smiled. "I think he's just tired. Leave him be, we'll get him to Dean in the hospital, and I'm sure the sight will do him good. So what's your name? You've got a different one as well, haven't you?" He just assumed that Richard was in on this. He seemed to be.

"Er, just Richard," the older between the two of them threw him an odd glance. "I think it's best you don't just assume everyone they know has a different name. I'd really appreciate that."

Which was, in short, a euphemism for, _if you tell anyone else, you're going to answer to me_.

"You'll understand that because of the names, it goes without saying you had better not get the police involved."

They pulled up at the hospital parking spot just as relations between them turned arctic.

\-------

After Richard initially called him, frantically asking about where James had taken him when he was kidnapped, Dean had been more or less a nervous wreck. He got out of bed, despite having just been on the receiving end of some Demerol, pulled on his bathrobe—since his clothing appeared to have vanished—and tried to walk out of the hospital.

This was not well-received by his nurses, who called security to haul the surprisingly strong and belligerent petite blond back to his room, sedating him first so as to not undo all of Dr. Momoa's hard work. Doubly stoned, Dean couldn't get out of bed even if he tried. 

His cell phone, when Richard rang later, was a blur to him, as were Richard's hurried words that Aidan was, indeed, all right. However, with that news, he allowed himself the luxury of sleep.

As soon as the three entered the hospital, Jason steered them into the emergency department. "So the fire," he said to Richard, "That was a setup, wasn't it?"

"Unfortunately. We assumed that the man responsible would have decided to leave us alone by now." Richard contemplated a few things, then added, "That's none of your business, as a matter of fact. How much do you even know? I think it's best I'm going to request a different doctor on them two. Nothing personal, of course."

Very much personal.

Richard appreciated what this man had done for Aidan, sure enough. But him knowing too many details rubbed him the wrong way, which added to a larger number of things that Richard could not stand about the man. He raised his chin. "Have you got an electrical socket I can use here somewhere? As soon as Aidan establishes Dean is safe, I will need my laptop."

James was still out there. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ , let him escape again.

\--------

As soon as the emergency room cleared Aidan to leave—and he was plenty insistent upon it—he took his prescription eye drops and inhaler in a paper bag and, wearing the scrubs they were kind enough to loan him, went upstairs to room 605 to find Dean sound asleep in his bed.

He sank into the chair next to the bed and took the blond's good hand in his own. "Hey," he said softly. "Dean?"

Dean came around slowly, as if he'd recently had pain medication, but once he realized Aidan was in the room with him, his eyes lost most of their glaze. "Oh, thank God!" he exclaimed hoarsely, and tears came to his eyes. "Thank God!" he tried to sit up and embrace Aidan, but gave up quickly as pain shot through his back. 

Aidan took advantage of the spare foot of space next to him and crawled into bed with him. "I'm all right," he assured Dean, determined not to tell him everything that had happened that afternoon. Instead, he was just content to hold him for a few moments before he delivered the bad news.

Richard and Jason waited outside the room for privacy; Richard leaning against the left door post, and Jason against the right. They could see how Dean's expression went from relieved to taking a blow when the news about the shop reached him.

It took no wise man to come to the conclusion that telling Dean that Aidan was going to be with Richard might take even longer, because now clearly wasn't the right time for it. Richard breathed out. He didn't like having to stand here and watch them interact in that casual way they had acquired over time—an ease that Aidan and Richard had yet to make a start with.

"Don't you like him because he's close to Aidan, or does it have nothing to do with that?" Jason asked absently. His eyes were trained on the smaller of the two men, a fond yet sad smile not quite reaching his eyes.

For a moment there, they both looked at something that wasn't theirs. Maybe, in time, they'd get there. Richard scowled when he realized he was easing up on the doctor. "Insurance will cover renovation costs," he avoided answering. "If he'll still have the shop, which I hope he will."

"So do I," Jason murmured.

\--------

"I'm going to have to leave Hawaii," Dean told Aidan sadly, words a bit slurred due to his medication. "I knew it the moment I discovered Richard was here. It wouldn't have mattered if the shop were standing or not."

"Dean," Aidan squeezed his forearm gently, "Richard doesn't intend you any harm. He told me that, and I believe him. If you don't cause him any further trouble, you have nothing to fear from him or anyone at Armitage. Stay, rebuild, better than ever. It's only a matter of time before James is caught."

Dean inferred much more from Aidan's words than the brunet expected. "You're going back with Richard, aren't you? He came for _you_ ," Dean deduced sadly.

There were a lot of things Aidan could have said, or should have said, but in the end, his answer was one word long: "Yes."

Dean swallowed back tears. "I am always going to love you," he told Aidan, simply.

"And I am always going to love _you_ ," Aidan enforced, laying his forehead against Dean's.

From the door, Jason quietly turned around. When Richard didn't move, he gently tugged on his arm. "Come on," he said, "this is between them. We're not supposed to be hearing this."

Richard refused to move for a second but, he finally reasoned, he would have enough time with Aidan later. It was just, well, part of his burdens were starting to feel increasingly lighter with Aidan telling Dean, and not still choosing Dean like he'd so often still feared. Especially after all that had happened, he wouldn't be surprised if Aidan crawled back to him, into that life of safety. He didn't want to miss anything of their talk, because it would only give him more things to be worried about.

Then again, there was the issue of trust, and building it, so at last he let the doctor pull him from the frame and to the coffee machine for a drink.

"If you could get me a socket," he said, "I can find out where he's headed, the man who did this. I could check up on the shop." He hesitated, then said with calculation, "I can keep an extra eye on hospital cameras."

"Armitage, right?" Jason cocked his head. "Richard Armitage. The name rings a bell."

Richard shrugged. Halfway across the globe, he didn't suspect hospital staff to know his name. "I specialize in security," he twisted the truth to suit him best. "Though a lousy job I've done at it so far."

\--------

Ten minutes later, Jason had set Richard up in a cubicle in the staff lounge where the Brit had plugged in his laptop and gotten down to business. The doctor returned to Dean's room, where he found Aidan had fallen asleep. Dean lay awake next to him, appearing to be surfing the internet on his cell phone.

Dean smiled at him when he entered. "I'm glad you're here," he told Jason. "Listen, I know you aren't a lung doctor or anything, but can you listen to his chest? He's wheezing, and it keeps getting worse. I told him he should probably go home and sleep, but I guess he was too tired to get up."

Jason smiled. "They had him thoroughly checked, Dean. I can have him go through it again if you want me to, but I think his body just needs to calm down and relax. Part of what you're worried about is probably due to stress. Did he tell you what happened?"

Dean nodded. “Some. But I think he’s keeping some of the better details to himself.”

Jason sat down on the last empty chair of the room and tentatively reached out his hand for Dean's, but decided not to go there when he saw Aidan had the other. It was going to take time.

"Just tell me what you want. I'll get it done." He was supposed to be off and get some rest, himself. Yet here he was again; in the hospital, arranging things. "Richard is on his laptop, figuring things out. He says he's in security, keeping an eye on things, but I think he's doing more than that. He's concerned about Aidan." And that was probably not the nicest thing to say to Dean when Jason was well aware they had just ended things, but it might just be the thing Dean needed.

"Can you at least talk him into going home and getting some proper rest? I—I mean, go _somewhere._ I guess we don't have a home anymore," Dean tried valiantly to control the tremble in his voice, but failed. "Jason, I guess by now you know that we've had a rough couple of days. We've lost our cars, my business, our home, and most of our money. When you release me, I have no home to go to. I've lost everything," he locked eyes with the doctor, "and I'm scared."

"Are you sure you want to let him go now?" Jason asked. He didn't know what was going on between the three of them, and he didn't presume to know either. What he did see was that Aidan made Dean smile. "How did you get into this mess, Dean? Now you tell me you lost your house and your money too. Please tell me that's the end of it."

"I fucked up, Jason. Back in London." Dean proceeded to spin a tale of corporate espionage that sounded so inflated and incredible he almost felt like he was making it up. But he wasn't. "I was jealous, and stupid. I wanted revenge on Richard. But then, I realized what I really wanted was Aidan. When we got here...things changed. I guess maybe _I_ changed. I found I loved life when I didn't have to get up every day and put on a suit. When I didn't have to cover up someone else's dirty deeds. I love it here, Jason."

He sighed. "Aidan's life-long dream of...Richard. I never believed in it. But he did. And it's coming true for him. And I have to be happy for him. Even if my dreams are, one by one, falling apart."

"You're going to let him go..."

Jason sighed. He felt disregarded, like his dedication didn't matter. But this was not the moment. "It wouldn't have to be terrible to stay here," he tried. "I could help you rebuild the shop. It would be a nice project to busy my mind on when I'm not working. And I'd really like it if you stayed. Does Aidan have to go? I don't want to sound like that kind of person, but you could fight for him. You could keep him here."

He bit his lip for encouraging something like that for selfish reasons. The truth was, Jason would miss Dean if he left.

Oh, he was only kidding himself, and no one else.

"You could also let him go and maybe give someone else a chance?"

"He's loved Richard since he was 15 years old. I always knew I was a substitute. I don't doubt that he loves me. I couldn't ask for a better best friend," Dean smiled fondly. "But yes, of course, I'm going to let him go, Jason. Three days ago, this would have hurt a lot worse. But I no longer feel the world is going to end if I lose Aidan's love. You see, I kinda met someone else that I think has a great deal of potential."

"Does that mean you will stick around and give him a chance?" Jason asked hopefully.

Just then, Richard entered the ward. The look on his face was pointed and alert. As soon as he got close enough, he started gently shaking Aidan awake.

"Come with me."

"Did you find James?" Dean asked him as Aidan sat up groggily.

Richard thought about what to answer. Then he coldly stared Dean down, ignoring the way Jason scowled at his treatment of the ill, and said, "No. Aidan?" The stretched out hand was undoubtedly to ask Aidan to join him by his side. "We need to talk. Outside."

Aidan looked between the three of them, accepting he'd awakened into some sort of testosterone-laden maelstrom, and tried to diffuse the situation.

"I'll be back," he told Dean, with a wink that basically conveyed _and I'll tell you everything._

He took Richard's hand and eased out of the bed, following the intense Brit into the hall.

"Richard? What's happened?" he asked when they were out of earshot.

"Follow me," Richard eased up a deal as soon as they were outside the room. "Sorry about that. There was a doctor in the room, and your friend—" no longer Richard's fired employee, or Aidan's partner, "—doesn't need to know. Walk with me." He didn't stop, though he occasionally wondered if reaching out his hand to Aidan would be too much. Tense with everything of the last few days, he'd gotten slightly awkward at judging situations.

They took the elevator three floors down, until they entered a patient ward with visibly more security. Two turns had them in front of a secluded area. Richard nodded to the man in front of the door, and after nodding back, he left.

As soon as Aidan was brought up to the window outside, he understood the secrecy.

In the room, and hooked to an IV, slept an injured James.

Aidan's eyes grew wide and he spoke quietly. "He's in custody, then? That's wonderful news, Richard." He observed James more carefully. "Are those injuries from the fire?" he asked, carefully.

"No. They caught him running away. I couldn't catch him, but they did."

Richard looked too solemn for the relief he felt. He turned to the man next to him and said, quietly, "I don't want him near us again, Aidan. Tell me what you'll have me do with him, and I will do it."

"I—" Aidan paused. "No, I can't be allowed to make that sort of decision, Richard. Of course I want him in a position to never be able to come after me, Dean—or you—again. There's only one way to really guarantee that, isn't there?"

"There are a number of ways," Richard said. James lay still on the bed, like he was at peace. A large wound was evident on his forehead and it was most likely that he'd been given sedatives to get his rest. "He could serve time. We could install a tracker on him. We could turn him mad. But there's only real way to make sure he will never come back to us again. Remember that he tried to kill you. If I hadn't found you in time..."

"A part of me just wants to run in there with a bat and start wailing on him," Aidan confessed. "And another part of me remembers him quoting Monty Python and drinking beer with me. I know that if I go back to London with you that I'll be safe from James. I'm more concerned about Dean, to be honest. I won't ever be able to rest knowing he could come after him at any time. C-can we...incapacitate him in some way?" Aidan blinked back tears. "What did you mean when you said he could made him go mad?"

"Chemicals. Procedures. LSD." Richard shrugged. He knew a number of methods. "I know you're not fond of chopping off limbs. We could—" he stopped, because it wasn't his favorite approach. "We could keep him close, in the way that enemies are supposed to be kept. Bring him to London, install a collar on him, and have him live his life. Give him one, even if it's meager, so he stops trying to take others'. I'm sure we can think of a way for the collar to be irremovable. But I'll tell you the truth, I'd rather not live my live having to keep looking over my shoulder. The best way is to find leverage over him. Family. Friends. Anyone he might care about. Get him knocking up a girl so he's got a kid.”

Richard didn't like what he said. It was his line of work however, and that meant he knew ways. "I just want him gone, Aid," he sighed. "I want you to take me on that tour of the island, return to London, see whatever I can still save from that merger, and live our lives."

"Nobody should have to live wearing a collar," Aidan pronounced. He turned away from the window so he wouldn't have to see James. "James has no wife or children. If that were the case, I'd feel some sort of mercy for him. Richard, if you think you can get away with having some sort of procedure done on him that'll make him forget about his vendetta, do it. But do it while he's asleep and can't feel anything. I don't want to know how. I just want to know when it's done."

Aidan turned to Richard and hugged him tightly. "I want to lie down with you soon. Just lie there and do nothing else."

Arms automatically wrapped around his waist in return. Richard closed his eyes and breathed in his scent. Gasoline was an unpleasant reminder of the things that had happened today. "I will ask one of my men, who knows about the best way to handle these things," he whispered, "When it's done, I will lie down with you, do nothing but watch you and remind myself how lucky I am." 

He didn't feel very lucky now. Someone had first threatened and then made an attempt to destroy the one thing he'd travelled this far for—someone who was worth that effort to him. Richard kissed his hair. "You get to decide whether you want Dean to know, all right? Come on, I didn't get very long to show you this." Just as he said it, the guard returned and nodded at them once again.

"Dean has to know; he'd want to. I get the feeling he wants to stay here in Lahaina," Aidan told the older man. "I overheard him talking to the doctor—the one who helped me at the fire. I think they might be on the verge of...something," he smiled mysteriously.

Richard grumbled. "Not wasting time, is he now?" Because he didn't really know why, but the doctor irked him. Then again, that wasn't a rare thing for someone the likes of Richard Armitage. "Sorry. It's a good thing, I suppose."

It made Richard feel as if, with Dean giving up so fast on Aidan, he was unworthy of Aidan to begin with.

"We will tell him, as soon as it's taken care of," he finally acknowledged. "Come, we should see them and then go home. You should rest, and you're not going to do that here. We'll turn the cameras on in Dean's room when we get home, just to be sure, but you're not going to watch them until you've slept at least four hours."

Aidan wrinkled his forehead at Richard's bizarre disregard for Dr. Momoa. The man had rushed to his rescue, saving his eyes—and who knew what other parts of him—from a painful fate, and Richard seemed almost annoyed by his presence. Aidan was coming to realize that the good doctor had probably been part of Dean's life before he saw him on his operating table.

"Richard, _none_ of us have time to waste," he said finally. "I know that now more than ever."

Put into his proper spot, Richard kept silent for a long time. When he did speak, it came out quiet—not quite defeated, but as if, if he spoke too loudly, something would break.

"Can I call you mine?"

Aidan cupped his face with both hands and kissed him hard on the mouth. "I've been yours since the first time I saw your face."

\-------

Jason was getting sleepier fast. His adrenaline levels were finally dropping to a healthy range, and his body was again reminded that he hadn't slept for far too long. He was supposed to have reached his home by now; the way his eyes fell so easily shut, he wasn't sure if he should be driving though. And even if he managed it, he'd have to pass by _Little Kahuna._ Or what was left of it.

Eventually he snapped. He got up, headed to the head nurse, and discussed some things with her. She seemed reluctant; nonetheless, an extra bed was rolled in ten minutes later, put up next to Dean, and locked there.

"I don't normally do this," he said to Dean. "I'm too tired to drive home. Is this fine by you?"

Dean gave a bemused smile. Didn't they have doctors' lounges for this sort of thing? Not that he was complaining. He relished the idea of not being alone, especially since he'd heard nothing about James getting caught. He also relished the idea of being able to simply just look at Jason while he slept. _Nothing stalkery about that,_ he thought to himself.

"Of course it's fine," Dean told him, watching Jason make up the bed. I can't believe you've gone this long without sleep. It's like you're super-human." Super-human or not, Jason looked exhausted. Clearly whatever had happened with Aidan that day—and he had yet to hear the entire story—had taken a physical toll on the doctor.

Jason gave a wry smile. "I wouldn't be so sure of that. I feel like I could sleep a full day, but my next shift starts in six. I hope Mrs. Rumford will be forgiving if she starts suspecting I'm letting her win on purpose. You should take my spot. She wouldn't mind." He hopped onto the bed and pulled off his shoes before tugging up the covers.

"You don't mind, right? After what happened today, I don't think you should be alone. And Aidan should get some sleep, preferably where he can actually rest and get it out of his system. He's going to be nauseous for a few days. I assume Richard will want to be with him.

"I'm the world's most terrible doctor, but how about I order some takeout for you tonight?"

"That would be wonderful, Jason," Dean told him. "And I'll go see Mrs. Rumford later, I promise. Now, get some sleep," he said gently, hating to see the overworked doctor suffer on his account. He smiled when Jason's dark eyes met his. "I haven't heard the full story, but something tells me you were amazing today."

"I'd rather be plain, if that means nobody'd get hurt."

Jason lay down and dozed off pretty quickly. No sooner had he done so, when Richard entered the room again, leaving Aidan standing at the door.

"I'm going to take him home now. You have my number."

"Richard," Dean faced him, unsure. "Aidan told me that you pulled him from a burning building today. That if you hadn't shown up just when you did, he probably would have died. Thank you," he told him, hoping he sounded sincere, and not terrified—which he was. 

Aidan couldn't hear their conversation, but he could see the good looking doctor that was settling down to sleep next to Dean. He raised his eyebrows at Dean and smiled. _You work fast,_ the look conveyed.

Dean's eyes turned back to Richard's. "I mean it, Richard. Aidan means the world to me. And if you don't take care of him from here on out..." his voice petered out. "Just don't break his heart," he finished quietly.

Awkward and out of place as the sudden words of trust made Richard feel, he looked around and then faintly nodded. He didn't want to be having this conversation; years of habit made him want to retort with something along the lines of _you still owe me one million pounds_. He doubted that would earn him Aidan's sympathy.

"...I don't intend to," he said finally. "James will never get near him again."

He also wanted to confide that between Dean and him, loving someone who idolized him this much was a little scary; there were many ways in which the real Richard probably didn't live up to the fantasy image. Again, not the best thing to say to the person Aidan had just left to be with him. Richard nodded to the door. "We should be going now."

Dean understood the finality in Richard's words. James was either going to be incapacitated or killed. The question was this: would Dean survive Richard's vengeance? Aidan had told Dean he'd salvaged their IDs and 100 thousand pounds. Would he have to leave Lahaina? 

Normally, he wouldn't have minded moving on—but normally, tall handsome doctors didn't express a desire to get to know him better. Dean had been attracted to Jason since the first time he stepped into _Little Kahuna,_ a broken surfboard in tow. 

He looked down at the sleeping man after Richard and Aidan left the hospital. Yes, he believed Jason was worth sticking around for.

\--------

That night when Aidan woke in an unlit hotel room, the clock reading eleven, he found Richard in black slacks in front of his laptop. Unaware, he continued typing, looking things up. By the bags under his eyes, he hadn't slept much.

Aidan had hoped to not disturb Richard, but a few deep breaths upon waking set him to coughing, which startled Richard.

" 'm sorry," Aidan said softly, coming to sit at the hotel table next to Richard. He laid a concerned hand on his forearm. "Haven't you slept yet?"

"I had a few hours," Richard nodded. His look softened from the frown that had been on his eyebrows for a while now. He pinched his nose and took off his glasses, rubbing his face. It felt good. "You should get some more sleep." Nonetheless he reached for a kiss and visibly relaxed, before shutting the laptop. He had worked enough.

"How are you feeling now? Is it getting better?"

Aidan didn't say the words that wanted to automatically come to his lips— _I'll be all right._ He knew Richard hated when he did that. Instead, he told the truth.

"When I was at university, I got pneumonia. It kinda feels like that, but with extra smoke flavor added," he tried to infused some humor. "The inhaler helps," he added lamely. "And I have been kinda sick in my stomach since all this happened, but that could be stress," he shrugged. "Either way, both do feel like it’s improved. Now, if I could just get this petrol smell out of my hair." Aidan feared if he didn't that he might have to cut off his shoulder length curls, and he didn't relish the notion.

"That's good to hear," Richard smiled. "You'll be fine. Just to be safe, until you're fully recovered I'm not letting you go a mile away from a hospital. That means no plane trips until you're better.” He looked down at his laptop. Richard wasn't sleepy. With everything that had happened, he forced any sleep that struck him away until he couldn't hold it back anymore. He had to; too much depended on it. "I've arranged things for Nesbitt," he spoke while staring off outside. "He'll be out of the hospital tomorrow. Dean won't be in danger anymore, and neither will you."

"Have you seen the view from our balcony?" Aidan asked him, changing the subject. He came up behind Richard and massaged his shoulders. "The moonlight on the ocean is so relaxing. Come, look with me," he held out a hand to Richard and led him onto the patio.

The breeze was still warm in a way that England never was. Richard was only used to it from business trips; it had been years since he'd slowed down and allowed himself to enjoy it. Leaning against the railing, he closed his eyes to enjoy the warmth before he opened to look at the ocean. He smiled.

"It's nice."

He turned to look at Aidan. Richard tried not to be too obvious about it; he liked just looking at him, taking in the shape of his features and his curls, and think that this was his. It would require hard work to keep it, but for now...

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

"Let's go to bed," Aidan suggested, one eyebrow raised.


	15. Christening Little Kahuna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five months later....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason Momoa written by BlueMonkey
> 
> Dean O'Gorman written by ThornyHedge

——-

FIVE MONTHS LATER…

Hans and Lena Von Gemmel had run an art gallery on Lahaina’s famous Front Street for the past twenty years. Now, getting up in age and ready to move into a retirement community, they’d decided to close it. While many buyers had made offers on the desirable property, their decision on who should become the new owner was made when they heard about the fire at _Little Kahuna_. Dean had collected his insurance money and signed the check over to the couple. They wouldn’t accept a penny more. 

“You and Ethan have been wonderful to us, Gregory,” Lena told Dean when she handed him the deed. “We were so sorry to see him go. But, now you and that handsome doctor of yours can get your surf shop up and running again,” she hugged him. 

Dean didn’t want to cry, but the sheer kindness of the act and his utter happiness at acquiring such perfect beach-front property brought tears of gratitude to his eyes. “I’m going to miss having you in the neighborhood,” he told them both. “No one feeds me like you do,” he complimented Lena’s amazing cooking. 

“And what a coincidence!” Hans exclaimed. “We brought along a cherry strudel and a pork roast with ligonberries for you and Jason.” True enough, Jason was approaching, a casserole dish in one hand and a round cake pan in the other. 

He rolled his eyes at Dean, smiling fondly. Dean just shook his head and smiled. 

"They insisted," Jason said apologetically. Dressed in one of his finer outfits for the occasion, he fooled nobody; his surfer tan and untamable hair, despite being tied back, stuck out sharply against the white shirt and neat jeans where there should normally be no shirt and wetsuit trousers instead.

He draped an arm around Dean's waist and kissed him on the cheek, before turning to the Von Gemmels. "You shouldn't have, but I'm glad you did. Dean's right. Nobody treats us like you do. You have to pass us some recipes some time. Unless they're secret, of course."

As soon as the elder couple closed the door with the promise of checking up on their progress soon, interested as they were in seeing how the location that had been their life for so long would be reincarnated into something new, Jason looked around amidst the empty space. He sat down on the still nicely smooth floor—there'd be flagstones soon—and grinned.

"Feels weird to be fifty percent responsible for building the next _Kahuna._ " He patted the floor next to him to gesture Dean to come sit next to him. "I don't think 'Little' still applies, dear."

Dean eased himself down to straddle Jason’s lap instead. “Nope, the ‘little’ doesn’t describe you at all,” he smiled. “How does it feel to be one hundred percent responsible for taking care of me?” he wondered, nibbling a line from beneath Jason’s ear and down his bronzed shoulder.

"Really?" Jason tipped his head in curiosity and not at all because lips were searching out his neck. Not at all. He let Dean do what he wanted—for the time being. "Feels damn good. Looks like you're the one taking care of me though. I like it."

They should probably be concerned about locked doors and a couple returning to the shop, but the lights were off and Jason just could not be bothered to get up. He guessed the other man thought similarly.

“What do you say,” Dean cupped Jason’s crotch with one hand, “to christening the shop?”

A wide smile spread in response. "I thought you'd never ask." At once Jason stopped indulging his partner and scooped him up easily, hopping to his feet. Whatever Dean did, Jason carried him to the counter with the surety of not letting go and seated him on top of it. "Leave the cameras off this time, what d’you say?"

A brand new alarm and camera network made sure that nobody could get into the shop unannounced. Even though they'd been reassured that the threat was gone, that didn't mean Jason wanted to chance losing Dean. Dean must have felt the same about him, because as soon as he had proposed meeting with the security guy he knew, he'd gotten a yes.

Fingers unbuttoned Dean's shirt with care, all the while looking at him from under his lashes.

Dean’s breathing sped up, as it tended to do every time Jason touched him. Despite his gentle nature, Jason was so powerful it was breathtaking. Once Dean’s shirt was unbuttoned, he wrapped his legs around Jason’s waist and pulled the dark haired man closer. “Will you do me…right here on the counter, Doc?” he asked, raising a hand to remove the elastic tie from Jason’s hair so it fell freely over his shoulders. Dean let out a pleasured groan as it cascaded and buried his face in it.

Jason himself preferred to keep it in a knot or tied back—strands would get stuck between them or plaster against his neck and cheeks—but he was loath to deny Dean such simple pleasures when he so clearly asked for them. A quick maneuver had his shirt drawn over his head and falling to the floor, only a small leather necklace left against his collarbone, before he tugged Dean closer to the edge of the counter and crouched. His kisses did not reach through the fabric, though they weren't meant to. Teasing, he kept looking up and promised, "If I get to look at you. All of you."

The way Dean's eyes fluttered was breathtaking. 

He hoisted him further up when he lost his grip for a moment, enjoying the raw friction. "Let me look at you, Dean."

“Yes,” Dean peeled off his own shirt, and shivered when Jason’s fingers brushed over the scar between his shoulder blades. By touching that one spot, Jason reminded him that he had, quite literally, fixed him. And he had, in all ways. Dean finally felt a sense of purpose when he awoke in the mornings. “Want you, love,” his eyes were grey in the dim light. “Whatever you want. Do it.”

All at once Dean felt himself tugged off the counter until he was only leaning against it, while nimble fingers busied themselves impatiently with his belt buckle and his jeans. From the jerks it was plain that Dean was pressing all the right buttons; Jason was beginning to lose the niceness to desire. He pushed the offending clothing down until Dean was left in his underwear. Appreciatively, he groaned, then knelt onto the floor until his mouth was level with Dean's groin.

His hair made it practically impossible for Dean to get a good view, but Jason had other talents. He licked a long, wet line against the other's still cotton-clad erection.

Dean let out a sinfully long groan and buried one hand in Jason’s silky locks. He used the other hand to steady himself against the counter as Jason’s talented mouth and the magic he worked with it made it harder and harder for him to stay upright. He brought the hand in Jason’s hair to the waistband of his underwear and began easing them down. “All of me, I promised,” he said, voice hoarse with lust.

His movements were halted before the waistband reached his knees; Jason gratefully took him into his mouth in one go, without preparation. He let Dean's cock slip out of him only shortly to look up and grin, "So _good_!" before he gave him his all. His entire body moved to the beat of his mouth, hips rolling lasciviously even though they had nothing to move against. Every sound that Dean made egged Jason further on. He became particularly interested in the way slowing down and fastening up, and altering in painstakingly unpredictable ways, unwound him.

Even from this angle, Jason was a feast for the eyes. Those undulating hips were something Dean looked forward to being under, and on top of, and in front of. Jason’s lovemaking was uncompromising and never left him with any doubts of who he belonged to. Tanned biceps flexed as his hands explored Dean’s thighs and ass, drawing him further into Jason’s mouth, eliciting further groans from the blond as he rapidly felt himself approaching orgasm. 

“I want to come with you inside me, Doc,” he caressed Jason’s hair. 

"Prepare yourself for me then." Jason gave Dean no chance to back out as he shrugged out of his own jeans, for which he had to get up momentarily and chose to make use of the situation to claim a deep kiss, until lighter kisses feathered down against his chest to his hipbone, his thighs, and he sat on his knees again. While his lips curled devotedly around Dean again, his hand moved to himself and started pumping in time.

“I didn’t bring any lube, Jay,” Dean lamented, voice broken as Jason relentlessly worked his cock. “We might have to do this the old-fashioned way.” He brought his hand up to his own mouth, sucking on two fingers and then bringing them around to between his ass cheeks. “Unless you have something better in mind.”

"Nothing gets better than this," Jason grinned as he looked up. He couldn't help it; he was a man with weaknesses and Dean, coating his own fingers in his mouth, was a very dominant one among them. He did his best to bring him over the edge with want before he was done preparing himself, and moved torturously slow at other times, but he made sure never to push it too far, using the sounds Dean offered so willingly to guide his effort. All the while, his hand worked roughly jerking himself off.

He had more trouble going slow there.

Jason had a gorgeous, thick cock, well in proportion with the rest of him. Dean knew he’d better do a stellar prep job or he’d be limping tomorrow morning. “So gorgeous down on your knees like that, Jay,” he told his boyfriend around his slick digits. “How about,” he trailed his wet fingers down his own body, “you put one of your fingers inside me?” While he enjoyed having one of those giant hands engulfing his entire left ass cheek, he felt one of Jason’s long fingers might be a better preview of coming attractions than his own smaller ones.

"My pleasure." 

Jason sat back with a wet sound and a sensuous roll of his hips, giving his boyfriend a great view of his hand still working on him. While his free hand crawled up and found the spot, he tossed his head back—hair getting in the way fast—and closed his eyes. "Come on," he whispered hotly while pushing his index finger inside, "let me hear how much you like it."

Meet weakness number two.

The best thing about this type of sexual talk was not having to lie. Dean groaned in surprised satisfaction as Jason's finger breached him and slid deeper, way eased by his saliva. "Love your huge talented hands," he gasped, as Jason's finger found his pleasure center with practiced ease. "Love them all over my body, but nowhere more than _here,_ " Dean writhed, fucking himself on the doctor's digit for a few seconds and shuddering at how amazing it felt. He threw back his head and closed his eyes. focusing all his bodily sensations below the waist. "Can't fucking wait to have you in me."

The words bore straight into Jason's core. "Oh, baby," he grinned. "Do you know what you do to me?" He often thought back to the day Richard came to Hawaii; had that day not happened, he would have never stood a chance. Thinking about it made him grateful for what he had; how his life—and the sex—had improved when Dean walked into his life and stuck around. He smoothly moved to his feet and pulled Dean up onto the counter, before crawling on top of it like a wildcat. The wood creaked under their combined weight, while the glass top slipped under their slick skin.

It was easy enough to pry Dean's legs apart, and from there on out a short ride home for Jason. He soon eased himself inside, being mindful enough to be careful. The tightness that enveloped him made him groan.

“I will never get over the novelty of you,” Dean murmured in his ear, surrounded by a soft cascade of dark hair. “Every time you’re inside me, it feels like the first time—or the last.” He was sure he was doing a poor job of describing the passion with which Jason fucked him. Jason did everything with such passion that it made everything Dean had done with his life up to now seem pale in comparison.

But that passion was infectious. Sparks danced through his vision at Jason scraped over his prostate again and again. The warmth and the weight of him literally took Dean’s breath away. “I am so in love with you, Little Kahuna,” he told him, hooking his ankles around Jason’s waist and pulling him deeper.

"And I with you," Jason managed to bring out. Hair flowed down and brushed against Dean's temples as he moved on top of him as if he owned him. And he did; even if Dean wanted to get out, Jason wouldn't let him. His taller body pinned him down effectively, while he had his way with him. He stopped only shortly to look down and admit with admiration evident in his eyes, "You make me such a lucky guy, Dean."

Then he pressed Dean's legs closer against for more reach and rolled into him. His breaths were coming out in an array of short gasps and moans cut short. Jason didn't kiss him. He preferred to look at him and see the damage he caused as he thrust himself into him.

“I,” Dean panted along to Jason’s thrusts, “am the lucky one.” _You fixed me_. He didn’t say it out loud. _You took everything that was wrong with my life and turned it into something beautiful and productive._ “I want to grow old with you, Doc.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he regretted saying them instantly. Then, he came.

Jason was left with the gratuitous sight of Dean falling apart at the seams, becoming such a lovely mess, while he stilled and stared down at him. The words sank in deep and brought him back to reality for a moment. Then Dean clenched around him and his thoughts fell empty in favor of physical pleasure. Jason's elbows leaned on the countertop on both sides of his head, his body moving on compulsion and beyond his own intervention. "Oh god," he whispered, "so tight, Dean. So incredibly—"

When he came, he bit down on Dean's neck—whatever was closest to his lips at that time—and groaned. " _Fuck._ Somebody help me."

When they were zipping, buttoning up and smoothing down hair, Dean turned to him. “Jay,” he began, “just now...the ‘growing old with you’ comment. I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything. It just came out, you know, in the heat of passion.” But the sincerity in his eyes told a different story.

When Jason saw the stains they'd left on the counter, he decided they had to do this again. When the shop was done, and the last customer on their way home or to the beach. He casually snuck into Dean's personal space and kissed him quickly, before he looked around for his shoes.

"I told you you never have to lie to me about anything, did I?" he remarked casually, no spite behind his words—mirth in fact got closer to what he was feeling. "You'll have to try harder to get me to freak out. Either way, it's a great compliment if you still think I'll be attractive when I'm wrinkly."

He pointed at the mess.

"You and I are going to do this again." Just so Dean knew.

"You'll be the handsomest surfer on the beach when you're ninety," Dean told him. His eyes followed Jason's pointing finger to the very smudged glass. "You know, for a doctor, you sure don't mind making a mess." Dean's OCD was pressing him to get a bottle of Windex and clean up. He chuckled to himself. 

"I'm starving. Are you?" he asked, changing the subject. 

"Dying for a smoke, actually. You shouldn't mistake being a doctor to not being used to mess. You should see the mess a proper patient makes on an average day. I've seen worse."

He didn't think he'd seen hotter in the hospital. "But we should clean that up first though." His hands reached to tie his hair back again. The tangled mess was impossible to handle and stuck to his sweaty skin like it belonged there. They needed a shower. Going outside looking like this was going to be a wonderful walk of shame, because it was obvious what they'd gotten up to for anyone who chanced to look.

Jason kissed Dean again. "I can live with being a handsome surfer at ninety," he said, "But promise me you'll help me stay fit then."

"That," Dean said, wrapping his arms around Jason's waist, "will not be a hardship. Although the authorities might begin to question all the broken hip injuries I incur," he chuckled. "I'll call for some Thai take-out. Sound good? We can eat on the couch and watch bad movies."

"Definitely," Jason nodded once vehemently. When Dean moved to pull away, he scooped him up and lifted his feet off the ground. He liked doing that. It made him feel like he had someone to protect.

It was no longer necessary though. Richard had kept his word.

Instead of feeling unsure and out of control when Jason lifted him up, feet dangling, Dean embraced the feeling of weightlessness and lay his head on Jason’s shoulder. He smiled to himself, recalling the crazy path that had brought them to this very moment.


	16. Company Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan finally gets to live out his fantasy with Richard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aidan Turner written by ThornyHedge
> 
> Richard Armitage written by BlueMonkey

After Richard turned one final glance at the security cameras showing the fifth floor and the adjoining two, he shut the system down. The hour was late and there was no sign of trouble—as there hadn't been for five months now. As always he was one to leave his office, locking it behind him, before he took the stairs down. With the many hours he spent seated, now that questioning people and maintaining control over his extracurricular activities had become outsourced to one of his finest, he often liked it more than taking the elevator. 

And, since nobody else used the staircase, that was all the better for him.

Down at ground control, his security staff would be looking at the same looped sequence over and over, probably not realizing that something was off. Richard was good at what he did, and he'd been getting a lot of motivation to step it up into new strategies again instead of refining his best tactics to be impeccable in the last months.

Hands in his pockets, he took his time getting to the fifth floor, smiling at his scheme all the while.

As soon as he got there, he switched off its lights.

\-------

Aidan lay his head against the plate glass window of his corner office and watched the snow drift downward past it. Warm and cozy inside, he wondered what the weather was like in Hawaii. The natives had been right. Once the islands got into your blood, their hold was powerful. But those natives had never met Richard Armitage nor felt _his_ powerful hold.

He'd finished work an hour ago and was waiting for Richard to call him so they could ride home together. The snow—which he'd only really come to appreciate in Massachusetts at college—seemed to bring out the romantic in him. With a wistful sigh, he turned back to his main computer, deciding to play one more game of Solitaire to kill time.

He was just sitting down when the overhead lights went off. Naturally, he freaked out, thinking the worst.

The sound of a door opening and closing came from the direction of the department’s door, although meant not do draw attention or be heard. As was the metal noise of a key turned, though Richard made sure that it was audible, if only so faintly that it would look like it was supposed to be hidden. The backdrop of the city lit enough of his way to slink forward, while providing him with the cover of being in the shadows of the lightless corridors.

He also made sure his footsteps were equally there and not there at the same time, although he stepped out of his shoes quietly and made not a sound as soon as he got close. A smile played on his face. Richard couldn't help it. He'd put a lot of planning into this.

Aidan’s heart was fluttering and he reflexively reached for his cell phone to call Richard. He was dialing the third number when he heard the door to the IT department open. He fought the urge to crawl under his desk and hide.

Hands were placed on both armrests all of a sudden, as a deep voice whispered into his ear—a faint outline visible in the reflection of the chrome table light that was there more for decoration than for making the central lighting give a run for their money—"Playing games, Mr. Turner? And here I thought you were working late for a reason."

Aidan let out what could only be described as a relieved squeak. “M-Mr. Armitage,” he relaxed visibly. “I-I’m not on the clock, sir. I was just waiting for a friend to come by and pick me up.

"Are you now? I didn't see anyone on my closing round." Which was nonsense; Richard never had to do that checkup. Still, he liked the added touch to his pretense. "And should you be waiting for friends to come pick you up while still here? Shouldn't you be outside the door instead, where non-personnel _are_ actually allowed? You're acting up lately, Turner. I'm not sure whether I should discuss this with your supervisor or deal with it directly."

“I beg to differ, sir,” Aidan said, delighted to play along, now that his heartbeat was under control. “My productivity’s been stellar. If you ask my supervisor, I’m sure he’d back me up on this. I’m sure any rumors you’ve heard about any bad performance on my part were simply a misunderstanding that we can clear up easily,” he put one of his hands gently over Richard’s, still resting on the right arm of his desk chair.

Richard looked sharply at the hand over his own. It felt weird to be back in his old skin, the one he had shed, but in a way it also made his own heartbeat rise. He spun the chair around and leaned low, so his face was only inches from Aidan's own. "I think I would rather deal with it directly. Remove your hand, Turner. Don't you think it's a little inappropriate to be touching your boss this way?"

“Yes, Mr. Armitage, you’re right,” he apologized softly. “I don’t know what came over me. T-the power went off and I got scared. W-what behaviors of mine are you concerned with, sir?” he wondered.

"Don't act coy with me, Turner." Richard's jaw tensed. "Maybe most people haven't noticed, but it's hard to ignore the looks you throw me when you think I'm not looking, or the way you flaunt yourself excessively whenever you walk away from me. I don't see you act that way around your co-workers."

“Does this behavior concern you because it’s unwelcome—or because it _is?_ ” Aidan swallowed audibly, meeting the stern software magnate’s piercing blue eyes with his own.

"It concerns me because I'm your boss. There are strict regulations in this company because there have to be. I can't have anyone around with...less than professional behavior. Are you someone with less than professional behaviour, Mr. Turner?"

Aidan had the good sense to blush. “I-I am very professional, sir. I clearly made a mistake; misinterpreted something you said or did that led to incorrect assumptions. It won’t happen again.”

Richard smiled victoriously and moved to lean back from the chair. He did, but only to swoop back in and crash their lips together. "Looks like," he unlatched for long enough to say, "I have to teach you a thing or two about how to behave around your superiors. Kiss me back, Turner."

Aidan leaned back uncertainly. “Mr. Armitage, that wouldn’t be very professional—”

"Are you questioning my professionality?"

“No, sir, I would never presume to do that,” Aidan admitted. “I merely don’t want to be guilty of what you accuse me of. M-my job…” 

"Your job, right now," Richard's eyes bore into Aidan without a twitch or a sideways glance, his hands still on the armrest which gave Aidan no place to go, "is to kiss me back."

“Okay then. In that case,” Aidan slid his hands up Richard’s arms to his shoulders and met his employer’s lips with his own, melting into the aggressive warmth he found there.

Instantly Richard pressed him back in the chair, which rolled back until it met the desk and Aidan truly had no other place to go, if ever he wanted to. His hands were on his knees, gripping into the denim, as he claimed what was given to him and took more. "Excellent," he breathed. "Such a quick learner. You're a little uncontrolled, but I'm sure we can teach you to take it fast." Then he pried Aidan's lips apart with his thumb and finished the job with his tongue.

Aidan’s breath was coming in short, excited gasps as he tried to bring more of his body in contact with his superior’s. He tangled one hand in Richard’s short locks and slid the other down Richard’s chest, making a beeline for his crotch.

In the faint light of solitaire's patient screen, Richard pulled away and straightened his back. Licking his lips, he reached down to unbuckle his expensive pants, still keeping Aidan trapped between him and the desk. "A fast learner indeed. Show me then, how skilled you are with your tongue when you're not making excuses."

Aidan’s vision gravitated immediately to Richard’s cloth covered crotch, as it was in his line of vision. “Yes, sir,” he readily acquiesced, and leaned in to unzip Richard’s wool slacks and slide them down his hips. Silk boxers soon followed, leaving Aidan face to face with his boss’s cock. He took a quick look up at Richard to find the man intensely focused on what Aidan was doing. With Richard’s order still pinging in his head, he gently cradled Richard’s cock with his left hand and leaned in to begin laving it with licks and kisses.

Richard's head fell back at once, no matter how gorgeous the sight of Aidan working him was. After months, he still had that effect on him. He vowed constantly to keep watching, and he lost control just as easily every single time. "Like that," he tried to stay in character. "Show me more, Turner. Wrap that eager mouth around me and convince me."

Bits and pieces were wavering through however, and he almost caught himself saying other things that would break the illusion. Richard bit down. "I said convince me."

Aidan’s face, if only briefly, took on an exasperated pout, as he was enjoying taking his time. Today, it seemed, Richard was all business—and all about getting down to it. He took Richard’s cock into his mouth, hands slipping behind Richard’s back to cup his ass, and in moments was deep throating him, swallowing occasionally to add more pleasure to the experience. Thinking of how Richard was exploiting his utter enjoyment of this particular sex act had him growling like a puppy with a chew toy.

"Mr. _Turner_ ," Richard sighed pleasantly, while his eyes fluttered and his knees grew infinitesimally weaker. "Exemplary." He curled fingers into Aidan's hair and never grasped it, but longed to do so anyway.

Five months and a few weeks back, Aidan had first done this to him. How the circumstances had changed, and how much that first act still made his blood boil in both good and bad ways whenever he thought about it. Richard should never have done that. He'd crossed a line there. Thankfully, the world that awaited him on the other side of it, while initially shameful for someone his status—he'd taken advantage of a prisoner in ways that indicated Richard had lost control over the situation—turned out to be the best thing that could happen to someone the likes of him.

At last Richard pulled away and looked down, his chest heaving with arousal. "You like this, don't you?"

“I _love_ this,” Aidan admitted, “sir.” 

"You love it when I despoil you, when you've got nowhere to go. That's why you've been flaunting that ass every time you know I'm watching, haven't you?" Richard licked his lips. "I'm not walking out of this office until your desk's a mess, and you're lying on top of it in the middle of soiled stationery, spent."

Saying it out loud gave Richard another surge of desire, and he soon pulled Aidan out of the chair and up against the desk without the chair in the way.

Aidan let out a huff as he was manhandled by the powerful man and delighted in watching his chair being kicked onto its side. “That chair,” he raised an eyebrow at Richard, “that’s company property, sir.” He gave Richard a sassy smile, easing his legs apart ever so slightly.

" _You_ are company property," Richard retorted. When he realized how wrong that sounded, he covered it up with surprising ease. "And I own this company. I will do with that chair and with you what I want." 

To underline that, their lips met again while his hips pressed Aidan's back into the edge of the table until he had no more space to go but up. Then, Richard pulled him back down and spun him around. He nipped at his earlobe.

That's when Richard finally allowed his hands to roam under clothing, intent on driving Aidan insane.

Aidan let Richard’s giant, gorgeous hands do what they wanted. He was helpless as always against them, as they stripped him of his tie and shirt, then dove in to explore the hot skin of his torso. He wrapped one arm back around Richard, grasping at his ass. The other, he used to steady himself as Richard’s hardness pressed against his tailbone. Richard was all over him, and he loved it. He craved it. He wanted more. 

Richard was prepared to do so many sinful things to him that, by the end of it, Aidan would beg him to let him come. He was prepared to. In the face of reality, he was quickly losing his mind and all that mattered was getting him closer, feeling more of him, and making him feel good. He scattered kisses across his shoulders and let his hands roam across his sides and front for longer than a demanding boss ought to.

But then, a demanding boss shouldn't do this with any one of his employees, no matter what excuse.

Unless said employee was Aidan Turner, higher level than anyone else in his department, and partner to Richard Armitage, who had corporations crumbling before him outside the office.

He loved him so much.

Aidan could feel when Richard started to think too much and took a moment to break their roleplay. “This isn’t sexual harassment, Richard. I want this. Want _you_ so much. Right here, right now, on this very desk,” he patted the surface with one hand. He reached that same hand back and wrapped it around Richard’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. “Mmmm,” he groaned. “Delicious.”

Richard pulled back into the situation. "You don't get to make demands, Turner," he hissed and kissed him hard before biting and sucking a path down his neck and to his spine, offering Aidan no doubt about who was in charge here. Technically though, one word and he would stop. His left hand moved to their front and, pulling away from the table just enough for space, Richard rubbed his hand impatiently yet languidly at Aidan's grown arousal—until he could hold back no more and finally worked the jeans off his hips.

"Nobody knows you're here. Nobody's going to save you from me."

Aidan knew he was helpless when it came to Richard. But what Richard had yet to realize was that _he_ was the one who needed saving. As every inch of his warm skin was revealed, Aidan let out breathy sighs and moans of pleasure, making sure Richard knew he was not at all under duress. When Richard cupped his cock in one powerful hand, it took all the control Aidan had not to just come then and there. He could come to Richard’s voice alone, if allowed to, especially when he said the right words.

"So bad." Richard was beginning to lose his breath. It was growing harder and harder to keep himself dedicated to his role, while he wanted to just give up and have him the way he was used to. But that was part of the charm of sneaking up on him this late. His hand pumped Aidan rhythmically, using only one hand while the other remained unoccupied as if subduing him was no trouble at all, while he breathed in his scent and used his hips to add pressure. Wherever skin met skin, Richard burned.

"Nnngh, so _good,_ ," Aidan contradicted. "So good you can't stay away." He luxuriated in the solid pressure of Richard's muscular frame insistently pressing on him. Richard was bringing his fantasy—the one he'd spoken of on _that day_ , bound and blindfolded on Richard's bed. Richard had remembered and waited all this time to make it happen for him. It was like a birthday, Christmas and every other good possible thing rolled into one.

And Aidan was right; it was impossible to stay away from this. Richard was drawn like a moth to a flame, and he was burning everywhere his skin touched with that of Aidan. Every time his hips rocked into the other's, he had to hold back or he would surrender himself. It was hard to stay in character, when it was so far from who he'd become in months past. He simply wanted to let his hands roam everywhere and make no pretense about wanting this.

Richard wanted Aidan; he was only able to claim otherwise because he knew that Aidan wanted it—wanted _him_ —this way. "Looks like," he did his best to tap into that mindset from before Aidan's imprisonment while uncapping a tube loudly behind him, "you've had time to think this through. What are you plotting? What's in it for you?"

"Plotting?" Aidan was taken aback by Richard's choice of words. " _You_ came here, Mr. Armitage," he reminded the older man. "I was just waiting on a friend when you showed up. As far as what's in it for me, it would appear as if you hold the answer to that question in your hand." 

"There's no friend at the front gate, nor is there one in the hallways," Richard spoke. "And you're far too easy for someone who doesn't have a secret agenda." He nudged the tip of his thumb between Aidan's cheeks, spreading the drop against his opening. "There's no other reason for me to think you don't fight back than to assume you've got it all planned out, Turner. Unless—" Richard licked a trail down Aidan's neck. "Do you want it, Turner? How many nights have you thought about my hand on you, spreading you open until you're loose enough to take all of me? How many nights have you sat here after everyone went home, hoping I'd find you and ravage you?"

Aidan's body was as taut as a bowstring. He closed his eyes momentarily, then answered truthfully, "More nights than I can possibly count, sir. When I see you in the hallway, or passing by my office, I fantasize about you — doing exactly what you're doing right now. Most times, I end up in the washroom jerking off, dreaming of your hands on me."

While Richard knew what his words did to the other man, he couldn't suppress the groan that ripped from his throat, being no better himself. He wondered if Aidan had really jerked off in the washroom and wasn't just saying that. If he had, Richard was going to think of it every time he'd be there himself. "Really, now?" he feigned coolness and control instead. The thumb withdrew in favor of his index finger, and that one did not stop at the rim. The hotness that surrounded it made him yearn for more.

Soon. Not yet, but very soon.

"And how long has this been going on?"

Aidan stiffened momentarily at the invasion, then melted into Richard's touch. "Since the first time I saw you, Richard," Aidan admitted. "Since the first time I saw your—" he gasped as Richard's finger nudged his prostate, "your eyes. Your piercing, searching eyes." His instinct was to fuck himself on the intruding finger, but he didn't want to incur Richard's wrath

From behind him sounded a deep chuckle of amusement. "So eager you are. Go on then. Show me how much you want it." The hand on Aidan's cock stilled, offering him the chance to create his own friction any way he wanted it.

"M-more, please. More fingers. More of _you_. That's what I want, Richard." He ground back against Richard's hand. "Your big, thick, _talented_ fingers," he stressed, fucking himself back on the single digit that was offered. "Make me scream. There's no one here to save me, right?"

"No one at all," Richard shook his head.

He added a second finger, but only nudged it against Aidan's entrance. There was no better sight than to make him work for it.

"Good," Aidan groaned, "because the last thing I want is to be saved from this." He wriggled backwards, edging the second finger inside himself awkwardly. "This would be ever so much simpler if I could see what was going on back there. But I kinda like _not_ seeing, too," he smiled, then mewled as he managed to get the angle right.

His movements were quickly driving Richard past all self-constraints, and if his movement alone wouldn't do it, there were the sounds of skin sliding against slick skin. Everything was working towards that point where Richard pulled back the reigns. When he did, he pulled out his fingers, not bothering with a third one, and lined up to slide in with surety. "So tight," he had trouble saying. "Move on me, or I'll move on you and you'll be sorry you let me later."

Aidan sighed in pleasure as Richard seated himself and savored the warm of flesh pressed so flush to his behind.

"You would hurt me, Mr. Armitage?" Aidan wondered. "I know you're wound pretty tightly normally, but I gotta tell you, there is very little you could do to me right now that would make me sorry." He leaned forward so that his chest was flush with the chilled desk, which left him very little purchase on the floor for his feet. "Not when I have you here, like this, at last," he squeezed Richard's cock tightly with his internal muscles.

Aidan was asking for it.

Richard, pushed further by those words, decided to deliver.

He wouldn't hurt Aidan intentionally. He would never. But by god, he could be relentless. The edge of the table had to be digging into Aidan's thighs, or worse, so he showed a small kindness by reaching for Aidan's jeans to wedge them in between him and the table. Then, he made good on his word. Richard slammed himself back in, going as deep as was comfortable—and then some. His lips were only able to hold back quiet mumblings by keeping distracted kissing every part of Aidan's skin they could find.

"Don't talk. Tell me in different ways."

Richard could tell his actions were making an impact when Aidan's hands scrabbled to find purchase on the desk and his back arched, a small trickle of sweat collecting in the dip at the base of his spine. Richard's thrusts made the desk shake. A pot full of pencils fell over, followed by a plastic lamp. Aidan keened as Richard expertly nailed his prostate, almost sadistically.

In honor of his own words, Richard kept silent from that point on as well. Only his clipped breath and the creaking of the wood could be heard—and the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin that had far more of an effect on him than it ought to. _Yes_ , he thought, _yes_. Aidan pushing himself deeper on his cock made Richard slam in only harder. His palms were beginning to get sweaty, and his thrusts irregular.

When he pushed the younger's legs together for more of that tightness, Richard was truly lost to passion. Not paying any more attention to pleasuring Aidan, he focused on himself and the way it made _him_ feel. Three consecutive times, he hit Aidan's spot—he wasn't that far gone to notice the delicious thrashing—before he intentionally missed it for shallow, quick jerks.

As soon as, at last, his orgasm washed over him, Richard gasped out and bit down on Aidan's shoulder blade.

"Oh, Aid," he whispered, breathless, while his hands roved over his boyfriend's body without aim and without control, and he rode it out.

That possessive, deliberate bite was the final push Aidan needed. He cried out wordlessly and his entire body tensed beneath Richard's as he shuddered through his orgasm. Boneless afterwards, Aidan was reduced to monosyllables. "Love you, Rich," he panted as his heartbeat returned to normal. "So much." His left hand reached up behind him to touch Richard's face, his hair.

"You made my fantasy come true," he smiled. 

With an impatient tug, Richard pulled out of Aidan, hoping it didn't cause him discomfort, before turning him around, setting him onto the decently soiled desk and kissing him like he'd longed to do all night—a passion that soon dissolved into slow and loving. "I hope I did," his voice betrayed his care. "I hope it'll be good enough to forget about the original one."

When Aidan had first confided the fantasy to him, he'd been bound and collarred, and blindfolded on top of that. For a fantasy, that night had stained it and, at least in Richard's eyes, partially ruined it. Another kiss passed between them, and Richard smiled. "I love you, Aidan Turner. You're so very worth it."

Aidan told Richard that he loved him all the time. Maybe he’d even said it so often that the words had lost their meaning—though Aidan certainly meant it every time he said it. But Richard had never said those three words to Aidan—at least not when he could hear them. Aidan thought he heard them one night while drifting off, or early in the morning when they were waking up, but there was no way of really being sure it wasn’t another of his dreams. Until now, Richard had never looked him in the eyes and said _I love you_.

Tears formed in Aidan’s eyes, and he immediately felt like a fool for it. Instead of responding with an automatic _I love you_ of his own, he pulled Richard to him and wrapped him in his arms, and wrapped his legs around his waist. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of what just happened, but his body was thrumming with excitement, which he was sure Richard could feel.

And he did. Richard had vowed never to make him cry again—he’d done that enough to last a lifetime in those few days of captivity. So to see tears pool in the corners of his eyes made him concerned. "Please tell me those are happy tears," he whispered. He brushed them away with his thumb, but they reappeared almost immediately after. "Hey…"

It took him a while to understand what had probably caused them. A quiet "Oh," escaped him, and a smile reappeared on his lips. "You _are_ worth it, you know. Considering you gave me reason to do this, here..."

"I never thought I would ever be this happy," Aidan told him, laying his head against Richard's warm shoulder. And he was. 

All around them, impersonal bits of data flowed through cables and ether going who-knows-where and taking who-knew-what from who-knew-who. But here, inside, in that moment, with the snow falling and the furniture in disarray, they were in love.

/END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your feedback and support as we took you on this strange and unusual journey into the world of digital espionage. We know we went out on a limb adding a non-fandom love interest and we appreciate your patience in that particular matter.
> 
> We have another story already well underway, set in The Hobbit filming universe, but with some very unusual... variations. Hope you'll join us there too!


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